When the Walls Come Crashing Down
by PaintedViolin
Summary: Woodbury could only last so long running off of a dictator's lies. When the threat of a group living at the prison brings potential war, Merle, Milton, and Andrea's loyalties are questioned. And now war seems inevitable, but with the prison, or Woodbury's own people? M for violence, gore, adult themes, and lang. Season 3. Reviews appreciated. Part I/III
1. Chapter 1: Evolution and Devolution

**Oh, what can I say? I can't stay away from Merle, Milton, and Andrea. No shame. I don't know where this is going, don't know how long it'll take to get there (I mean, the story I just finished a month ago took about two years to finish with college and work, so…). I won't leave it hanging forever, if it hangs at all, though. Even if I have three or four other stories still in progress, I always come back to finish TWD sooner or later. I just had to get this story laid out so that I can let my ideas develop as they come. Reviews are appreciated, and if you like Merle, Milton, and Andrea, I have two other completed stories—"After the Fall" and "Black Horizon".**

 **MERLE**

He dabbed off the sweat glistening on his forehead and chest with the towel Martinez threw at him. The spectators were leaving the arena in groups, laughing and talking about the exciting end to the day's celebration. Now that the people of Woodbury were a safe distance away, Martinez hit Merle in the arm.

"Asshole. You let a few punches fly."

"Hey, if y'can't take it, don't play the game, man," said Merle, swatting at Martinez's exposed chest with his towel. "Big celebration warrants a big show, so that's what we gave 'em. I tell ya, though, I thought for a second one've them biters was gonna getcha. We didn't cut off the nails, y'know—"

"Shut up," hissed Martinez, pointing to a pair of children running toward him and Merle.

"Just the fans comin' t'see their favorite pit fighter," said Merle with a grin.

Since rising through the ranks of the Governor's men and becoming the best fighter the town had to offer, Merle had become something of a celebrity to the children. The younger ones saw him as a superhero; the older ones idolized him—and some of the teenage girls had been testing their adolescent flirting techniques on him. It didn't bother Merle to be on the receiving end of so much positive attention, but he had to remember to put on that front for the children as opposed to the person he was in the presence of the other Woodbury guards.

And the person he pretended to be with the guards wasn't even the person he knew he was. No one here knew who Merle Dixon really was—except, perhaps Andrea.

The kids who came waddling up to Merle now were two of his favorites; six-year old fraternal twins who had Merle make a mark on wooden plaques their uncle had made for them when they arrived. The plaques had each of their names engraved into them and showed wear and tear from all the fights the kids had brought them to, but Merle knew that Nathan and Nina treasured those plaques more than anything they owned, which was very little.

As the two of them squabbled over whose plaque Merle would sign first, Martinez shot Merle a look of disgust. Martinez had had family before the outbreak; two kids of his own and a wife, and he had a soft spot for all of the children in Woodbury, so to see them flock to Merle who was actually inwardly terrified of children, upset him deeply.

Merle took the Sharpie from Nina, much to Nathan's disappointment, but Merle reprimanded the boy. "Hey, now, ladies go first, son." He scrawled a very messy capital "MD" on Nina's plaque next to the eleven other signatures he had written in the past year, and then signed Nathan's. Martinez stalked off, shaking his head.

The children went sprinting back to their mother, waving their plaques, and their places were taken by the Governor and Andrea. Merle had seen her watching the fight in disapproving fascination, but watching nonetheless.

"Your best win yet, Merle," the Governor complimented. "I've never seen the people chant your name with so much enthusiasm."

Andrea clearly didn't share in that sentiment, but she said nothing.

"Listen, I've got somethin' I need to talk to you about, but Milton wanted me to look over his figures for the power he's gonna need from the generators first, so meet me in the lab in about fifteen, yeah?"

"Sure thing," said Merle, though he had a feeling that he already knew what sort of job the Governor wanted him to do.

"And be a gentleman and escort Andrea back to her room."

This part Merle was only too willing to comply with, especially because Andrea didn't look at all thrilled with the idea. The Governor left them and Merle gestured toward the entryway that would lead them back onto the main street.

"I don't need an escort, thanks," said Andrea, and walked off in a huff, but Merle wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to weasel some information out of her and flaunt his victory.

"Ain't no rush, Blondie. We can get a lot done in fifteen minutes."

Andrea shot him a look of revulsion and kept walking.

"Awe, c'mon, what's with the sour face?"

"If you can't figure it out, I'm not going to tell you."

Merle quickened his pace so that he could dart in front of her and cut her off. She came to a halt just before she bumped into him.

"What?" she asked.

"Now, look here, sweetheart, even though I'd like t'be, we ain't a couple, so don't be throwin' that 'y'oughta know' shit at me. It's been a rough day for you, I'm sure, but y'can't go takin' that out on me. I didn't do nothin'."

"I don't need to discuss this with you—"

"I'm the only one here who you could discuss this with, Blondie. I'm the only friend you got now thatchoo're on your own."

"Is that what we are now? Friends?"

"Why? Y'lookin' t'be somethin' more?" Merle couldn't resist toying with her when she made it so easy. He put his tongue between his teeth in a seductive fashion that drove girls in his hometown crazy, but Andrea rolled her eyes and tried to walk around him. He backed up further to block her and gave her an apologetic grin. "Okay, okay, I'll be serious. Tell me what's up."

Andrea rested her weight on one foot with her hip jutting out, clutching her bag with her head cocked to the side. She was sizing him up, and not just physically, because the arena had already proved his physical worth. After a moment, Andrea looked down at their feet and slowly brought her gaze up to meet his eye.

"I chose to stay here because I thought that it was durable and safe and a place to thrive. I've seen the fortifications around the walls and I've seen the Woodbury army in action, so I know that this place is well-guarded. That's the kind of security I wanted after eleven months out there with the walkers and that's why I chose Woodbury over the person who helped me through those eleven months. Michonne didn't need to come to my rescue after I left the farm, but she did and I owed her for that. I thought we could make it work here, but she didn't want that, so now she's back out there and I'm in here. I thought that would be her loss, but then I saw the fight. You can pull your punches and take out the walkers' teeth, but you can't sugarcoat what's going on here. You've made these people think that walkers aren't dangerous and given them a false boost of confidence. They feel safe in here, but everyone has to go outside the walls sometime, and when they do, they won't last two minutes because they don't think they're at risk anymore. You've taught them to forget about the danger, but it's still right on the other side of the walls."

Merle had listened to Andrea give self-righteous speeches back in camp outside of Atlanta and she could go on for hours about it all, but he never found anything she had to say the least bit interesting. Now, however, she had picked up on every bit of the truth that Merle knew damn well, but that he chose to ignore as long as it kept him in the good books. He knew that the fights were just a mockery of the apocalypse and that they didn't help the people in the long run, but the Governor thought that the fights kept morale high, and Merle wasn't one to question the Governor's decisions.

Merle went along with it all because it was the easiest thing to do. He obeyed without verbal question, even if he didn't agree inwardly. The Governor said kill, Merle killed; the Governor said fight, Merle fought and earned himself respect and admiration from the crowd; the Governor said obey, Merle obeyed—for now, at least. The man's good graces may have saved Merle, but once Merle had paid off his debt, he planned to continue his search for Daryl. Despite the people here who trusted him and his abilities to keep them safe, he would give them all up in a heartbeat if it meant finding Daryl.

"Life hands you things y'don't always like, honey, so sometimes y'gotta just go with it 'til somethin' better comes along."

"I thought this was something better, but it's not. I can rely on the army to keep this place standing, but what happens when you're outnumbered by other people or walkers? Who's going to have the experience to back you up? Who's going to have the courage? You've got eighteen men and four women in fighting condition. That's not enough to hold this place against people who'll want to take it for themselves. That's not enough to keep a herd of walkers out."

"Don'tcha think we know that?"

"Then why are you teaching the people here that they don't need to be afraid of anything?" Andrea demanded.

"'Cause that ain't my call."

He hoped she would catch the subtlety without him having to say it out loud because if there was one thing Merle couldn't say, it was the truth.

"So you don't agree with what's happening here?"

"I'm just tryin' t'make it work for me."

Andrea let out a dry chuckle and shook her head. "You know, you had me going there for a while. I actually thought that this place had at least made you realize that being a selfish prick won't get you far, but I guess not, if all you're here for is the goods. When the shit hits the fence, you'll bail like always. Congratulations, Merle, you're still the biggest asshole at the end of the world."

He'd dealt with people talking down to him all of his life. With his upbringing and his telltale accent, it was a given that people saw him as poor redneck trash, and he had embraced that title. But no one could understand the lengths he had gone to and would continue to go to find Daryl. It wasn't being selfish trying to find family or to at least find out what happened to his family, and Andrea of all people should know that. If she didn't know, he was going to make her understand.

Merle grabbed Andrea's arm. She drew her other arm back to punch him, but he trapped it against her side and used his body to hold her still as she tried to fight him.

"Hey!" he said sharply, and she stopped for a moment, her ice-blue eyes piercing him in cold fury. "Y'got no right sayin' that shit t'me."

"Then tell me that if walkers burst through that door right now and overran this place that you wouldn't run for it."

"I wouldn't," said Merle firmly. "I'd stay. I'm stayin' s'long as it takes t'find my brother. Nothin' else matters."

"And what if you never find him? Or worse, what if you do, and he's already turned?"

"I'll be ready for that if it comes. I didn't have no reason t'expect that he was still alive 'til I found you, Blondie, and if you made it, so did he."

"You don't know that," Andrea stressed.

"I don't, but I gotta keep tellin' myself that. It's all I got."

Andrea wriggled out of his grasp, but didn't walk away. Merle thought he could detect sympathy on her face. She'd lost her sibling and she pitied Merle for still nurturing that hope that Daryl was alive.

"If you had known when the Governor found you that Daryl hadn't made it, where would you be now?"

The answer came so quickly, Merle didn't even realize he was prepared for it because he had thought about it every night. Where would he be now if he knew that his baby brother's life had been snuffed out?

"Dead."

This time Merle knew that he saw sympathy on her face because she looked like she wanted to touch him in some reassuring way, but after he had grabbed her, it didn't seem like the appropriate thing to do.

"You'd give up? You wouldn't even try?"

"He's all I ever had, Blondie. Y'don't give up on kin 'til y'know they're good'n gone."

"Amy died," said Andrea, swallowing hard. "We left the quarry and went to the CDC looking for answers, but the man there told us that there was nothing left. By then I'd give up. The CDC was scheduled to self-destruct and I made my decision to go up in flames with it because there was no point in going on without Amy if there was no hope for rebuilding what we'd lost. But Dale pulled me out of there and he made me realize that you have to keep going _for_ your family. You show them that you could keep going and make something of the life you have left. That's why I survived out there with Michonne and why I chose to stay here. I want to keep going, even without Amy."

She had changed, Merle admitted it. She was still pretentious and still made of a hard outer shell, but she wasn't weak anymore. Before, she had been terrified of biters to the point where she burst into the typical damsel in distress scream whenever one came near, but she'd evolved into a warrior and Merle found that incredibly sexy, as well as slightly inspiring.

"And why'd y'wanna tell me this?"

"Because you have to make that decision too when the time comes. You can opt out or you can keep going, and I just hope there's someone there to pull you out of it like Dale was there for me."

He felt especially daring tonight. He'd never been one to shy away from grabbing a piece of ass before the world went to hell, but he'd had to get the clap one too many times, so he'd pulled back on his sexual desires, which had served him well now that there was no one to administer the clap again if he needed it. He hadn't felt a woman's touch in over a year, but the confidence he'd gained in his victory tonight and that empathy he'd earned from Andrea were enough to make him try his luck.

Merle pushed a strand of hair out of Andrea's face and ran his forefinger under her chin. "Stick around, Blondie, and there will be someone."

/ /

Merle wasn't the only one who the Governor had called to Milton's lab. The nerd himself wasn't there, but five other people were. There was Tim who'd finally earned his stripes after the army massacre the day before. Guerrero was there, a rather short man with one eyebrow permanently cocked up and a crooked grin. Merle also saw Elliot Bailey, a man the town had labeled as the comedian who was nearly as tall as the Governor, but with more boyish features, and Fletcher who had about three years on Merle with a bald head and lines around his mouth like a basset hound. And then there was Erica, a woman who had come to Woodbury's gates with her dying husband hanging off of her. After Merle killed her husband when he reanimated, she had asked to be a part of Woodbury's army and proven to be quite handy with a rifle.

In fact, all of them were a part of Woodbury's army, but none were noted for their brutality and strength. The army consisted of the brawny, the weapon-savvy, and the stealthy. These five fell in the latter two categories.

The Governor addressed them, leaning back on Milton's workbench like he was about to deliver exciting news for a new car to promote at a dealership instead of the task Merle thought he was about to assign to them.

"I won't beat around the bush with this," said the Governor. "Michonne needs to be taken care of."

 _Called it._

"She pulled her sword on me and she went pokin' around in stuff that don't concern her. She's smart; she got past the normal bullshit we tell everyone to keep 'em happy. If she finds someone else to take her in, she'll tell 'em about us and the threat we pose. We can't have that. You six are gonna go out there on foot before daybreak and kill her. I want proof that y'got her too. No excuses; she dies, or someone else takes her place. I'm not gonna spend the rest've my life lookin' over my shoulder for her."

"She'll see us comin'," said Merle.

"Maybe, but that's why it's the six've you goin' out there—plus one more. I want y'all to take Milton."

There were groans all around at this proclamation because Milton was the single most useless individual Merle had ever come across. He'd never seen a person turn and never put down a biter for himself. He couldn't fire a gun and got easily flustered in close contact with biters so that someone always had to come to his rescue.

"He's gotta learn," the Governor insisted. "He's smart and he's doin' me a great service in the research he's done, but he needs to be able to handle himself. Plus, he's diplomatic, and you'll need someone to talk Michonne out into the open. Michonne knows how gutless Milton is, and she won't suspect that y'all are there to kill her if he's with you. He'll call her out and then y'put her down. Erica and Elliot talk well; give Milton backup if he needs it. Merle, Guerrero, and Fletcher'll look like guards for the other three. She'll come to you."

"And you really think now is a good time for Milton to learn how to fight while we're tracking someone as dangerous as Michonne instead of having Crowley take him over the walls and teach him some techniques close to the town?" asked Erica.

"It's more because you'll need Milton to get to Michonne than for Milton's sake. It'll be a good practice run."

"You haven't told him that you want us to kill Michonne, have you?" asked Guerrero with his wily expression.

"No. He'll find that out after y'kill her."

"He won't appreciate being used like that," said Elliot. "If you're going to send him out there, he needs to know the truth, otherwise he might take chances that he wouldn't normally."

"Milton doesn't take chances," said Fletcher with a roll of his eyes. "He doesn't even shake people's hands unless he has hand sanitizer on him."

"I still think it's unfair. How would you feel if you were sent to try and bring someone back to town because you thought that they could help us thrive and then find out that you were only sent out there to be the gateway so that other people could kill that person? You're putting him in no man's land and if Michonne doesn't buy it, she'll run him right through and he'll die without ever knowing that he was cannon fodder."

The Governor stepped up to Elliot and blinked in that slow, calculated manner that had made so many of the others nervous because they all knew it was the final step before the Governor's temper boiled over. Merle could see the anger rising in the Governor's face and the color draining from Elliot's.

"Milton won't die 'cause you're gonna be his shield. You take every hit meant for him. If he comes back with even a papercut, you'll get that ten times worse. He's more valuable to me than you and he's goin' out there 'cause he's the only chance you've got at gettin' Michonne t'come out. Just get the job done and come back, but if Milton dies, I'll kill you myself when you come back. And don't try to make a run for it either, 'cause Mere'll put a bullet in your back if y'do, ain't that right, Merle?"

If the Governor said kill, Merle killed. He obeyed as long as he had to until he found Daryl. He did whatever was necessary to help him get to his brother, even if that meant shooting down Elliot in cold blood because the man had enough balls to call the Governor out on his bullshit. If Elliot had to die so that Merle could continue to look for Daryl, so be it.

"That's right."


	2. Chapter 2: Cannon Fodder

**MILTON**

"Miltie, you're makin' a hell've a lotta noise back there," said Merle without taking his eyes off of the path ahead.

"I'm stepping exactly where you step," Milton pointed out.

"But you're steppin' twice as hard, boy. Hush it up."

Milton was about to ask how when Elliot nudged him and showed Milton how the rest of them were treading on the balls of their feet. It was a difficult thing to do and Milton's balance was already challenged with both feet flat on the uneven forest floor, but he figured he should give it a try if only to keep Merle from snapping at him again. Without Phillip accompanying them to keep Merle in line, Milton didn't trust Merle to control his temper.

There were many things Milton agreed with Phillip on, but allowing Merle to be in charge during this search to bring Michonne back was not something they shared viewpoints on. Michonne clearly didn't like Merle and having him tag along was only going to antagonize her, but Merle was the only one who could possibly find her thanks to his tracking abilities. And if Milton could just keep Merle quiet, there was a possibility that Michonne might actually come back with them. It was a waste of resources in coming out to find her when Phillip should have just insisted that she stay in Woodbury, but now that Phillip had pointed out that Milton might need her for the next stage of experimentation, Milton had to agree that Michonne was valuable.

Still, the number of people Phillip had sent to accompany Milton seemed like overkill since Merle could do the tracking and the fighting, which left Milton to do the talking. They didn't need Guerrero, Erica, Elliot, Fletcher, and Tim for that.

"What gives, dude, we've been following this path for half an hour and I haven't seen shit," Guerrero mumbled as Merle examined an indent in the mud and veered off in another direction.

"Who's the tracker here, huh? Her trail just picked up. She'd been at that campsite we saw a mile back for the night, but she must've heard us comin', 'cause she hauled ass. We're catchin' up. Double time, y'all."

"How are we supposed to keep sound to a minimum if we go crashing off through the woods at breakneck speed?" Milton wondered aloud and Merle turned around to frown at him.

"That's physically impossible, y'dumbass. We're just runnin' now. She already knows we're on her tail so there's no use keepin' quiet no more, huh? Keep up, Miltie."

Fletcher gave Milton a small push from behind to get him moving, but Milton was just as confused now as he had been while trying to tread carefully. They needed to talk to Michonne, so why didn't they call out for her? She'd only keep running if she thought she was being pursued by an enemy.

"Shouldn't we let her know that it's us so that she'll stop running?" Milton suggested as he jogged behind Guerrero. "Maybe she thinks we're marauders or a swarm of biters."

"Y'go on an' give a shout, Miltie, see what good it does."

"I will," said Milton coldly. "Michonne! Michonne, it's Milton from Woodbury. If you can hear me, stop running and come out. I'm just here to talk."

There came a rustle from the forest ahead and as one, Milton's companions rotated toward it. Merle made a motion that they should creep forward, weapons raised. Irritated at their demonstration of aggression when he was trying to parlay with Michonne, Milton tried to call her out again.

"Michonne, I've come as a messenger to speak on Woodbury's behalf. We want you to come back. We understand why you left, but you have valuable knowledge about biters that could help us—help what's left of the world."

Milton was standing at least five feet from the others now as they continued to advance.

"Michonne, I can assure you that we're not here to harm you. If you're there, give us a sign that you're listening and I'll keep talking. You don't have to come out yet; you can just listen and—"

Milton felt a hand seize his shoulder and pull him backward. He panicked, reaching for his sidearm, but whoever was behind him grabbed it first and pointed it over Milton's shoulder toward the others. An arm reached across his chest and held him captive as a blade inched up toward his throat.

The others did an about-face with their weapons ready to pepper both Milton and his captor with bullets.

"No, wait!" Erica cried. She threw down her rifle and held up her hands. "Put 'em down," she told the others. "Dammit, do it now!"

"Try anything and I'll run you through right here," said the voice of Michonne from behind Milton.

His heart was pounding high in his chest. He could feel the sweat building in his armpits and on his upper lip. Every instinct inside him was telling him to stay calm and wait for an opportunity, but he had no experience in fighting the dead or the living and Michonne already had an unfair advantage over him.

"Just keep calm, honey," said Merle, but to Milton it definitely sounded hostile and so with the fear that Merle was going to be the one to get him killed fueling his adrenaline, Milton spoke.

"We didn't come seeking violence."

"You came heavily armed with _him_ ," said Michonne, using Milton's body to gesture toward Merle. "What did your Governor tell you were coming out here to do?"

"Let him go," said Erica as she appealed to the men again. "Drop them in the dirt, what are you waiting for?"

"The Governor said her or us," said Tim fearfully and Merle stepped on the younger man's foot, but Milton had heard enough.

"And you didn't know about this, did you?" asked Michonne in Milton's ear.

"Not until now," Milton admitted with a hollow feeling. Was he really so expendable that Phillip would sell him out just to have a shot at Michonne?

"You're gonna wanna let 'im go now, honey-bunch," said Merle, inching forward.

"Then I guess your friend doesn't give as much of a shit about you as these people here," said Michonne so that only Milton could hear before she started backing up with him. "You come any closer, Merle, and he's dead, I promise you that."

"Dude, back off," said Guerrero, nudging Merle's side. The semi-hippie tossed his weapon onto the ground, but Milton knew that was only diversionary; Guerrero always had a small handgun and a butterfly knife in his boot.

Fletcher followed suit and both Elliot and Tim were quick to participate, though Milton noted how white Elliot had gone. Merle was now the only one still armed.

"You really want this man's death on your conscience, Merle?" asked Michonne.

"Him? Don't matter either way t'me, honey, but I'd prefer if y'kept 'im in one piece."

Milton let out a sharp gasp as the blade at his throat opened a cut in his skin.

"Please," said Erica, "just let him go. He's not even a part of this."

"He is now, ain't he?" said Merle. "But our queen Nubian here don't look like a killer t'me, so don't y'all worry none 'bout Miltie."

The sword slid a few inches across Milton's neck and he let out a yelp of pain.

"No!" Elliot shouted.

"I swear to God, I'll open him a new smile, Merle, put your weapon down now!"

"Miltie, be ready boy," Merle called to him.

"Merle, don't!"

Guerrero threw out his arm and knocked Merle's arm away. A bullet hit the tree to the left of Milton. The sword pressed deeper into Milton's neck and then it was gone. Michonne kicked him from behind and he went sprawling in the dirt just as he heard her fire his gun. As he rolled onto his back to see who she had shot at, Merle rushed right past him in pursuit of Michonne, swearing and firing. Milton just saw the back of Merle's black overshirt disappear into the underbrush when three biters emerged, drawn in from the shouts, and closed in on Milton.

Fumbling for the knife in his belt, Milton tried to crawl backward, but one biter fell onto its stomach and started to tug at Milton's ankle. The other two went for the rest of Milton's companions. Milton's glasses had slipped to the tip of his nose from the sweat so that he could barely see as he struggled to twist himself free from the biter's grasp. He hunched forward at the waist and sliced at the biter's face, but his knife didn't penetrate the skull.

"Milton!" Erica yelled.

The biter opened its mouth to clamp down on Milton's ankle and Milton saw the tip of a blade protrude from its maw. Merle had a hold on the biter's hair and had stabbed the thing through the back of the head. He threw the twice-dead body aside and impaled it again in frustration. Milton saw that one of his nostrils was bleeding and biter blood had stained his shirt.

" _Fuck_!" cried Merle, kicking at the ground in frustration. "What the hell was that?" he asked, rounding on the others. "Everybody droppin' their weapons when y'all couldda popped a bullet in her head."

"She almost cut Milton's head off and you're wondering why we threw the guns downs?" said Erica. "Tell me if you saw something different, because what I saw was Milton about to be murdered because none of us were watching his back."

"He wouldda gotten hurt, but not t'the point that it'd kill 'im. I couldda nailed her, but _you_ ," Merle pointed his blade at Guerrero, "just fucked that whole plan over."

"Chill, dude," said Guerrero calmly, wiping his own knife on his pant leg, and Milton saw one of the biter bodies at his feet. "It was never gonna happen anyway. She knew it from the start that we didn't come to talk, so she had the advantage. Just rotten luck that she nabbed Milton before we could get a read on her."

"Phillip gave you instructions to assassinate her?" asked Milton. He would only accept the truth from Phillip himself, but he trusted Erica and Elliot at the very least to be honest with him.

"Hole in one, Milton," said Tim. "Governor wanted her dead, said she's too much of a threat."

"What threat could she possibly be? She didn't want to stay with us, but she had no reason to want to wipe us out."

"Governor don't like loose ends," said Merle. "That's all she was, an' our job was s'posed t'be killin' her if only t'bring the Governor peace've mind. Riskin' all've our lives just t'bring 'im back Michonne's head, but hey, life's a bitch, innet?"

That didn't sound like Phillip at all. Why would he put the lives of five soldiers and Milton himself in danger just to get rid of someone who didn't agree with how Woodbury was run? Besides defending herself from people who she knew had come to kill her, Michonne was harmless.

"Governor wants ya t'get experience—'least, that's what he told us, but you're only here 'cause he hoped Michonne would come out into the open so that we could get a clean shot at her if you were talkin' to her."

Not often did Milton feel irresponsibly stupid, but this was one of those times. He could see Michonne's worth in furthering his research on ways to subdue biters, but Phillip didn't care about subduing biters, only reversing their sickened state. Phillip never wanted Michonne back.

"Y'get it, don'tcha, Miltie? He don't give a shit aboutchoo. Her severed head for his trophy case means more t'him than your beatin' heart. Think about that."

"Leave him alone," said Elliot. "He gets it."

"You're gonna get it too when the Governor sees that cut on Miltie's neck, Ellie. He's gonna know that Michonne got close enough t'kill 'im. Ten times worse, remember?"

Whatever that meant, Milton didn't know, but Elliot did, and the thought petrified him.

"I remember."

"So the way I see it, y'gotta come up with an alibi." Merle addressed the whole group. "This's what happened: we got Michonne t'come out and Miltie talked her up, but when we moved in, Michonne panicked. She took a slice at Miltie, but just missed the mortal blow. Instead, she stole Miltie's gun an' shot Elliot."

"No, she didn't," said Elliot, nonplussed.

Merle picked up Milton's fallen pistol and pointed it at Elliot. "Yeah, she did."

Milton realized what was about to happen and tried to stop it. "Merle, don't-!"

The bullet went through Elliot's arm and Elliot cried out as blood shot out of both the entry and exit wounds. Erica swore and both Guerrero and Fletcher raised their weapons, but Merle stuck Milton's pistol into his belt.

"Y'took that bullet for Miltie," he told Elliot. "Y'saved 'im. Ain't that right, y'all?"

Now understanding, the others nodded and Guerrero ripped off a section of his shirt to tie around Elliot's wound.

"Y'all lemme do the talkin when we get back and you—" Merle pulled Milton to his feet and dug a finger into Milton's duct-taped jacket, "—keep a lid on it. Y'don't know nothin', got me?"

Milton gave a curt nod, but Merle Dixon wasn't going to prevent him from getting the truth from Phillip on his own.


	3. Chapter 3: A Town with a Mask

**ANDREA**

The gate allowed Merle, Milton, and four other people who Andrea only knew by sight into Woodbury. Some of them had walker blood on them and Milton was bleeding from the neck, but the wound didn't look serious. Andrea rushed out to them, but Martinez and Shumpert tried to stop her.

"They're fine," Martinez told her stoutly.

"I can see that, but I still want to talk to them."

"You can talk after the Governor's had words with them."

"Let 'er through," called Merle. He motioned for Andrea to come closer and told the others to go get cleaned off, including Milton whom he sent to Dr. Stephens. There were flecks of blood on his face, but his chest had gotten the most on it and Andrea could smell the stench of dead flesh clinging to him and mingling with his own sweat. Dry blood also stained the skin under his nose where one nostril had bled out.

"Make it quick, sweetheart, I gotta go get cleaned up."

"I need to speak to you— _privately_ ," said Andrea in a low voice.

She didn't like the look Merle gave her because she knew damn well what was going through his filthy mind, but she was glad when he at least beckoned that she should follow him up to his second-story room in the building across from the Governor's abode. Inside his room, Andrea saw that he wasn't necessarily a slob, but that he had better things to do than keep his room looking presentable. Dirty clothes hung out of a hamper in the corner and the shower beside it had a leaky faucet that he didn't find the need to tend to in order to preserve resources. It was just another telltale sign that Merle didn't give a shit about these people in Woodbury, and Andrea was surprised no one had noticed this by now. His bed was unmade, his sheets and blankets rumpled, and a small collection of scrupulously clean weapons leaned against his bedside cabinet. At least his priorities were straightened out in keeping his weapons close by and spotless.

Merle invited her in and told her to shut the door behind her as he went to the dresser and pulled out a muscle shirt exactly the same as the one he was already wearing, sans-blood stains. He took off his black overshirt, hung it on the knob to one of his dresser drawers, and then stripped off the stained shirt, tossing it at the hamper. Andrea looked away at the wall, but should have found a more interesting distraction, for Merle had seen her looking at him and bit his lower lip with a nod of his head.

"Y'see somethin' y'like, don'tcha, Blondie?"

"Where'd you go today?"

"You're no fun at all, y'know that?" said Merle as he put the fresh muscle shirt and previous overshirt back on.

"Where'd you go that you needed six other people with you? You don't have anything to show for the beating you took out there. Milton looks like he was lacerated across the throat and one of your other men was shot."

"Yeah, well, that's what happens when ol' Miltie decides t'tag along. That's why he normally don't. Useless pile've horsehit that man is…"

"Merle—"

"Sorry, honey, but I can't be spillin' the beans on nothin'. Ain't my place t'share info t'people not involved. Tellin' you what went down out there's not worth my ass."

So, Merle was afraid of the Governor. Andrea had had her suspicions before when Merle seemed reluctant to share his true feelings about the man, but he as good as told her just now that he would be risking consequences in telling her what went on beyond the walls. And yet, she could tell that some part of him wanted to entrust her with information.

 _Let me just put it this way: I wasn't in the best shape when he found me. He should've just kept on going. Yeah, he's a good man._

"I know I probably don't deserve this answer from you, but I want the straight-up-no-bullshit truth: is the Governor a good man?"

Merle washed the rest of the blood from his face with a damp towel from the wash bowl on his dresser, threw the towel into the hamper, and watched Andrea in the mirror's reflection.

"Why's it important t'you?"

"Because I put my trust in the wrong man before."

Merle turned around and gestured at himself. "Lookit me, Blondie. Y'think _I'm_ a good man? If y'think so, then yeah, so's the Governor. If not, I been called worse."

"You're not like the Governor at all."

Merle laughed, though Andrea didn't know if it was at her or at something he wasn't telling her. "Blondie, y'don't know nothin' about me."

"I think I'd like to change that."

Merle raised his eyebrows seductively at her. "Is that a proposition?"

Andrea spared him a sardonic smile. "I think you'd make a worthy ally."

"Well, that's not exactly the invitation I was lookin' for, but I'll take it, s'long as y'do me a favor."

"Knowing you, I don't think I'm going to be too keen to take you up on that," said Andrea with a grimace.

"Turn a blind eye, Blondie. Whatever y'see or hear, keep it to yourself—unless you're sharin' it with me. Y'wanna be allies, I gotchoo, but only if y'keep your head down an' don't question nothin'."

"But I need answers, Merle. I'm not going to play housewife while the rest of your are performing tasks for the Governor that might involve me and I know that whatever you were doing out there today is connected to me in some way. If you would just tell me what happened, I promise that I'll keep it to myself. You saved my life out there, Merle, so I owe you one. I'll do whatever I can to help you find Daryl if you help me out here."

Merle looked her up and down and gave a slight shake of his head as his lips pursed. "Good try, sweetheart, but I gotta keep mum on this one. Y'want info, y'gotta earn it."

"Then tell me how."

"Woodbury citizens don't know shit 'round here. A step up from that's the Woodbury soldiers an' then the inner circle. There's about ten've us in there: me, Crowley, Shumpert, Martinez, Tim, the others y'saw comin' back with me."

Andrea did the calculations in her head and came up one short. "And Milton."

"Well, he's a special case, innee? Ain't no soldier; he proved that today out in the woods. Y'seen his neck; dumbass didn't listen, got in the way. He's just lucky Elliot an' me were there."

"So say I join the army, what then?"

"Then y'work your way into the circle, Blondie. Get t'know the Governor, show 'im y'wanna be here. Flirt with 'im."

Andrea scoffed in disgust but Merle waggled his finger at her with a _tsk, tsk_ sound.

"Don't be so quick t'shoot it down. Y'just tried it on me twenny seconds ago."

"But I know you—at least better than I know him."

Merle closed the distance between them, smirking. "Y'tryin' t'tell me somethin' here? 'Cause the vibe I'm gettin' is that y'turned that charm on ol' Merle 'cause y'wanted a lil' some-some outta this."

Putting out her hand to make sure that there was at least three feet between them, Andrea backed up. "I want in on the answers that you won't give me. You tell the Governor that I'm a damn good fighter and that I want to be a part of the army. Meanwhile, I'll find answers where I can."

"Hold up," said Merle, catching Andrea by the hand before she could leave, "We had a deal; y'keep your head down, I'll help ya secure your place here, but I can't be stickin' my neck out for you if you're gonna go pokin' around."

"Get me in first, then I'll stay out of trouble," Andrea bargained.

"Gimme 'til tonight. I'll come by your place and letcha know how it went down after I've gotten a chance t'talk to the Governor. Can y'stay outta trouble for that long?"

With an idea already forming in her head, Andrea nodded and put out her left hand to shake Merle's. He seemed to appreciate that she had consciously offered out her left hand as opposed to the default right, and grasped her fingers in a firm handshake. After he showed her out of the building and headed off toward the laboratory bunker, Andrea ran for the infirmary, hoping that Milton was still being tended to by Dr. Stephens. Luckily, Milton was not a very good patient, and was sitting on the exam gurney with his feet dangling off of the floor as Dr. Stephens scolded him for moving about too much.

"You know how these things work, Milton, you've seen me stitch up dozens of wounds. If you don't sit still, you'll make it worse."

"I'm sorry, but the needle poking through that tender skin is ten times more painful than the actual wound," said Milton in a half-sincere, half-annoyed voice. He looked up as Andrea entered and tried to smile as if he wasn't bleeding from a location near one of his vitals, but his brave attempt looked more like an excruciating grimace.

Dr. Stephens took the opportunity of his distraction to put in another stitch and Milton nearly kicked over her wheely table that had all of her tools on it.

Andrea knew what was needed of her without being asked, and strode up to Milton, offering out her hands. Milton looked down at them in confusion.

"Take my hands," said Andrea. "Hold them as tightly as you need to so that you won't move like that again. This needs to be taken care of or an unsightly scar will be the least of your worries."

Milton regarded her hands with hesitation and folded his own in his lap. "I can manage like this, but thank you."

"Yeah, because that worked so well the first time. Give me your hands, Milton, or I'll sit on you to hold you down."

It was amazing, the speed with which Milton moved to comply with Andrea's threat. He held out his hands to her, but she had to take them, for he wasn't willing to follow through with the first move. Despite the nervous sweat on his forehead, his skin was cold at the fingertips and Andrea could feel him shaking as Dr. Stephens moved in with the needle. Milton watched her out of the corner of his eye, and when she was centimeters away from his wound, he panicked again.

"Wait…wait just a moment, I—I need to take a breath."

Dr. Stephens planted her hands impatiently on her hips and tilted her head to the side. "I can't be here all day waiting for you to get over your fear of needles, Milton."

Was it really a fear of needles, or a fear of pain? Either way, Andrea couldn't see that Milton was going to cooperate unless she did something about it. She squeezed his hands in hers.

"Look at me, Milton. Keep your eyes on me and squeeze as hard as you need to. Do whatever you need to do, but don't move."

"That's not a comforting notion at all," said Milton, shaking his head with his eyes closed as if he could make Dr. Stephens disappear by willpower alone. "That's what they told me when they used to stick me in the hospital and it still hurt like hell and I couldn't do anything about it because sometimes they'd strap me down."

A pregnant pause followed this statement and Milton cracked open one eye to find out why Andrea and Dr. Stephens had gone quiet.

Andrea knew next to nothing about Milton, but this was not a proclamation she'd expected to hear from him, especially since more than one Woodbury citizen had mentioned how socially awkward Milton was and how he refused to share his past with anyone.

"When they strapped you down," said Andrea carefully, "was there anyone in the room with you besides the doctors and nurses?"

"No," said Milton.

"Then this time it'll be different. All you have to do is hold onto me. I promise, I won't go anywhere."

Milton licked at his cracked lips, eyed Dr. Stephens's needle, and nodded. "If I hurt you, I apologize beforehand."

"You won't."

Dr. Stephens tried again and Milton once again followed her with his eyes while keeping his neck and head still.

"Milton—"

"I know it's coming—"

"Look at me."

"I'm trying—"

"Who shot your friend?"

"What?"

Dr. Stephens sewed up another stitch and Milton's grip on Andrea's hands tightened until Andrea felt sure that he was going to cut off her circulation and Dr. Stephens would need to find another set of hands for her.

"Keep talking to me. Who shot your friend? I saw the bullet wound when you came back," said Andrea hastily as Dr. Stephens prepared the next stitch.

"I-it was an accident," said Milton. "A biter jumped out of nowhere and I tried to shoot it, but it knocked me over before I could— _son of a bitch_!"

Andrea saw a tiny trickle of blood dribble out from where one of Milton's fingernails was cutting into her skin as he swore his way through Dr. Stephens's process, but she didn't say anything. She needed to keep him talking.

"Merle wouldn't tell me what happened out there."

"As well he shouldn't. We went out on military business and as such, it's a matter for the Governor and Woodbury's soldiers to know," said Milton crisply with tears of pain brimming in the corners of his eyes.

"You're not a soldier," Andrea pointed out.

"But I am Phillip's advisor."

"And you look like you almost got your throat sliced open."

As she said it, a sudden thought occurred to Andrea, but it was so ridiculous that it couldn't be true…or could it?

"Done," said Dr. Stephens. "You come back here every day so I can keep an eye on those, and whatever you do, don't pick at them, or I'll sit on you myself as I sew you back up." With a nod of thanks to Andrea, the doctor went back into her office, and Andrea tried to take back her hands, but Milton seemed unable to extract his own from hers.

Andrea had to wriggle and twist her fingers until they came free and she flexed them experimentally to ensure that Milton hadn't done any long-term damage. As Milton reached up to prod at the stitches, Andrea slapped his hand. Milton looked at her in shock, perhaps because he had just been scolded like a child, but Andrea took the chance to throw the question at him out of the blue in the hopes that he'd be caught off guard and provide her with a plausible answer.

"Milton, did Michonne do that?"

She could see the color drain from his face at her words and knew she had him, but Milton still shamelessly tried to deny it.

"A biter took me by surprise and I fell. I cut myself on a shard of metal sticking out of a car."

"Please, don't insult my intelligence. You can't lie worth a damn. Michonne cut you, and you're going to tell me why."

"No, I really should be getting back to the lab," said Milton distractedly as he jumped down off of the bed and headed for the door. "The day's activities put me very much behind on my work—"

"Milton—"

"It was nice chatting with you—"

"Milton!"

Her tone brought him to a halt on the threshold and she came around to block him from going further. He wouldn't meet her eye and Andrea had to wonder how any secrets were kept in Woodbury with someone who had an abysmal poker face like Milton carrying them around.

"Milton, after what just happened in there, don't you trust me?"

"It's not that I don't trust you; I just happen to trust Phillip more," said Milton, though a scowl claimed his face at these words so that Andrea wasn't sure that she believed him.

"Would Phillip have done what I just did for you? Somehow, I don't think so. I barely know you, but I was there for you just now when I didn't have to be. I'm not saying you owe me, but I do think that you should be willing to tell me the truth if the truth involves me or Michonne. Please, Milton. She saved my life and she was the only friend I had for the longest time. If something's happened to her, I need to know so that I can go help her. She deserves that much for coming to a stranger's aid when she should have just kept walking."

She could see the cogs working in his brain as he weighed his options. At the mention of Phillip, Milton's face had darkened. Whatever had happened today, Milton didn't agree with it—no, more than that; he was angry about it. She just needed to nudge him in the right direction to get the full story.

"You've only known me a few days, but isn't that enough time to figure out that I'm one of the good guys? If there's one thing I don't do it's pretend to be someone's friend and extend false hospitality. I wouldn't have helped you out if I didn't care, so that should tell you that I'm sincere in my actions."

Milton's eyes flickered upward to settle on her face. Somehow, the bandage along his neck made that youthful puppy-dog sadness in his face vanish so that an older, fiercer visage was present. He had seen the outside, perhaps for the first time, and it had scarred him. Despite being a survivor in a thriving town for well over a year since the world went to hell, Milton was inexperienced and unaware of the real dangers outside of the walls that barricaded him in—until today. Whatever had happened to him, it was enough.

"I was under the impression that we were to go out and bring Michonne back so that she could join Woodbury's army and assist me in the lab," said Milton, barely moving his lips and speaking so quietly that Andrea had to lean in to hear him. "The other people in my group had been informed of a quite different task. The results stand thus: Michonne believed that I had come to kill her and nearly killed me in self-defense. For whatever reason, Merle shot Elliot to make it appear that Elliot had taken the bullet for me, should Phillip inquire. That's all I know, and that's all you know, but this conversation never happened."

Before she could question him further, he hurried up the street toward his lab, leaving her standing in shock at what she had just heard. Was it the truth, or just an on-the-spot lie Milton had conducted to throw her off of his trail? Somehow, Andrea didn't believe that a man with a poker face as horrible as Milton's could invent a lie at lightning speed, so she was inclined to believe him. Merle and the others were sent to—to what? To _kill_ Michonne? Why? She was gone; she'd turned her back on Woodbury, but she didn't pose a threat to the town? Why would the Governor want her dead? And why would he send Milton out with Merle and other soldiers? And why wouldn't Merle tell her the truth when he was the one who knew her better than Milton?

One of them had to be lying: Merle, Milton, or the Governor. Or maybe all of them were lying. None of them had any real reason to trust her. She knew Merle from before, she'd helped Milton out of a temporary crisis, she'd been friendly enough toward Phillip. None of these things earned her the right to be fully trusted by these men, yet she felt that Milton had been the most honest person with her, and if that was the case, Michonne was in danger. And so was Andrea, if the Governor found out that Milton had told her.


	4. Chapter 4: The Threat Inside

**MERLE**

Elliot was shaking where he stood as they listened to the footsteps out in the corridor grow closer. Merle shot him a look of warning to keep his mouth shut, but he could understand why Elliot was so nervous. The Governor had promised ten times the damage to Elliot that Milton sustained out in the woods, and despite their false alibi that stated that Elliot had taken the bullet for Milton, the bandage that plastered Milton's throat was still very much a problem.

Milton himself was still absent, even though Merle had heard him cantering around the lab moments before Merle and the others arrived. It turned out, however, that Elliot was not the only nervous one, for both Erica and Tim were fiddling with the straps on their weapons as they waited for the Governor. Fletcher was more composed, but Elliot was a good friend of his, and he was clearly worried that the Governor would slice all the way through Elliot's throat as compensation for Milton's wound. Guerrero was the only calm one. He almost looked bored by the situation, but that was just how his face normally appeared, regardless of the situation.

The door at the far end of the lab opened and the Governor sauntered in, his arms swinging casually at his sides as he approached Merle and the others. He assessed their physical appearances and then held up his hands as if to say, _well, somebody explain_.

"We found her," said Erica. "But we didn't kill her."

"That's a given, otherwise you'd have told me outfront instead've makin' me ask," said the Governor.

"She reacted at the same time that biters moved in," Elliot invented. It would look less like a failure and more like an unfortunate set of circumstances if there were biters involved.

"I heard Milton almost got a Sicilian necktie, and he's got the stitches to show for it," said the Governor conversationally.

"You talked to him already?" asked Tim.

"Naw, Dr. Stephens just told me that he'd been in for the injury. She said he'd fallen when a biter attacked 'im and he cut 'imself on a metal shard. She said she removed a bullet from your arm, Elliot. Tell me what happened there."

Elliot gulped and tried to speak, but his words failed him.

Guerrero came to his rescue, but not in a very helpful manner, especially given the Governor's passive face that Merle knew all too well was masking his anger at not being given Michonne's head and sword as proof and prizes of her murder.

"It's kinda obvious, isn't it?" said Guerrero with a look that said, _well, duh_ to the Governor. "It was Michonne. She was talking to Milton, but then she panicked, grabbed him, and—"

"An' Elliot fought 'er down, but she stole Miltie's gun an' got off a round in Elliot right after she took a swipe at Miltie. She was already usin' Elliot as a human shield when the biters swamped us. We kept after her, but Miltie started bleedin' too much, so we had t'come back. She was headin' northwest."

"We had her," Fletcher chipped in, "but when she realized why we'd actually come, we couldn't stop her unless we wanted to pump Milton and Elliot full of lead. We could have killed her if we'd been willing to kill two of our own and that's not on my to-do list."

Merle admired the _fuck you_ type of attitude Fletcher displayed in calling out the Governor on his lack of concern where his own people were involved, but it was a risky move. The Governor didn't appear to be bothered by this, though, as he walked up to Elliot and pointed to Elliot's arm. Elliot held his injured arm up and the Governor felt for the bandages underneath Elliot's shirt.

"That was a well-placed shot," the Governor observed. "You might have some nerve damage once it heals over."

Elliot said nothing, afraid to move.

The Governor squeezed his hand around the wound and Elliot gave a sharp gasp. Fletcher's hand flexed toward the revolver at his side and Merle kicked him in the back of the leg as a warning to not interfere.

"Y'should've taken one for the team, Elliot," said the Governor, squeezing harder so that Elliot began to bend away from him in pain. "I want her head or I'll use yours next time. If y'come across her again and y'don't bring her head danglin' by the dreadlocks back to me, I'll use yours."

"He couldn't do anything," Erica piped up, stepping out of the line to come to Elliot's aid. Fearful as she was of the Governor and his methods, she didn't stand for bullying. "We were the ones who decided not to fire. Elliot was protecting Milton like he was told to and the rest of us refused to shoot him down to get to her. It wasn't his fault that she got away."

"You're right; the fault lies with all've you," said the Governor. "I gave easy, specific instructions to kill that bitch, and y'couldn't even do that. None've you seem to realize how important it is to finish her off, so let me make this clear: she knows what we did to that military unit and she'll warn anyone she comes across so that we can't deal and trade for supplies that we need. She's gotta be taken out, or Woodbury might not survive— _we_ might not survive. I'd sacrifice a life to prevent that any day. Now, y'all are gonna go back out there every day 'til y'find her or—"

"We won't catch her," said Guerrero boldly in his no-bullshitting tone. "She knows we're onto her now and she'll keep moving. There's no point in tracking her now because she already has half a day head start and she'll go all night if she has to. She's got stamina, and she knows she's being hunted. It's not worth it to go after her if she doesn't plan to take up with other people."

"She don't like people," Merle added. "Andrea said that she'd rather be on her own than even interact with people. She won't be makin' no pit stops t'tell anybody about us."

The Governor contemplated this and then waved his hand to dismiss them. "Y'all turn in. You're back at it tomorrow and you're gonna run her straight outta Georgia. If we can't catch her, we make sure she doesn't come back."

He let go of Elliot who choked in relief and hurried toward the exit. Merle went to follow, but the Governor called him back, as Merle suspected he would. When the others had gone, the Governor sat back on one of the lab tables and let out a long, exaggerated sigh.

"They're startin' to question my authority, Merle. They don't trust that my decisions will see them through."

"They just don't think it's worth losin' their friends over a woman who don't look like no real threat," said Merle.

"Their friends? Not yours? You don't consider any of them to be friends?"

"Never had nobody I could consider a friend, just acquaintances," said Merle. It was true enough, Guerrero, Fletcher, Elliot, Erica, Tim, the other soldiers in the army, Woodbury's citizens—none of them mattered to Merle in the long run.

"Not even Andrea? Y'seem to get on well enough with her," said the Governor slyly.

Merle saw an opportunity here and played his words carefully.

"I knew her from before; that don't make her a friend. But she apologized for what happened t'me in Atlanta and she seemed sincere enough, so I let it be. Wasn't entirely her fault anyhow; she just happened t'be there. An' she's dedicated t'Woodbury now. She wants t'be in the army. Seems passionate about it, an' I hear she's a good shot."

"Who'd y'hear that from?"

"Her. But she couldn't even hold a gun last I saw 'er in Atlanta. She knows what she's doin' with one now—least s'far as pistols and handguns are concerned. She might need some instruction on the bigger toys, but I can help her with that an' get her situated with a bludgeonin' weapon. Wouldn't hurt the army t'have a woman in it, neither, s'pecially one that ain't afraid've the biters like most the ladies here. Erica's an exception, so why not let Andrea be?"

The Governor grinned at Merle, but it was more condescending than good-natured. "C'mon, Merle, d'you really want her in the army, or are y'lookin' for a way into her pants?"

Merle bit the reflexive retort that longed to come out of his lips. The days where he could mouth off to authority figures were long gone, and he needed to stay in the Governor's good books so that he could train Andrea and she could help him look for Daryl. But he didn't think it was the Governor's—or anyone's—business whose pants he wanted into.

"She made it this far. I'dda taken her for biter bait months ago, but she's still here, even with that flu she had. She knows what she's doin', an' we need more women like that, not women who're poppin' out more kids every day just 'cause they can. Let 'em be mothers, but make 'em learn how t'protect their kids. Erica's just one woman, ain't gonna git the rest've 'em pumped t'join. Put Andrea in, y'got more women linin' up t'learn how t'fight. Opens up a whole new set've possibilities, don't it?"

The Governor contemplated Merle's words and gave a partial nod. "That's an idea. Y'go on home now. I wantcha back on the trail lookin' for Michonne tomorrow."

Merle took his leave. Out on the street, Woodbury was closing down for business for the day as dusk settled in. All sixty-odd townsfolk were shutting their blinds and locking their doors as the night guards took up position at the north and south walls. Guerrero was on duty with Kendall up front for first watch and he turned around to look at Merle, inquisitive as to how the conversation with the Governor went.

Flipping Guerrero the thumb-up, Merle started for his own apartment when he spotted the twins Nathan and Nina's mother Janine watering her plants in front of her apartment building. Since gardening was supposed to take place first-thing when the residents woke up in the morning, Merle was curious as to why schedule-driven Janine was doing the task now.

"Janine, hey!"

Janine glanced his way and took off at a brisk pace to beat Merle to her apartment building's side entrance, but Merle caught up to her.

"Hey, I was callin' you, why'dja take off?"

Janine turned her head and Merle saw the bruise that had formed over her left eye. What's more, he suspected—even knew—where it had come from. He turned to enter the apartment, stomp up the stairs, and beat the living hell out Janine's boyfriend, Wade. This was not the first time Merle had seen the damage Wade did to Janine in the privacy of their own apartment, but since he knew Janine to be made of stern enough stuff to fight back, he'd left it alone, especially since Janine had her brother-in-law, CJ living with her. She used to be able to stand up for herself, but lately, she'd become more timid in public and spent most of her time hidden away inside.

Now that she seemed to be losing the will to even attempt a rebuttal when her life was on the line, Merle had had enough of it.

"Wait, Merle, don't—"

"The shit he pulls don't happen here," Merle snarled. "We got rules an' one've 'em's that y'keep your fuckin' hands t'yourself. How's he keep doin' this with CJ in the house?"

"CJ's never _in_ the house when he does it," said Janine with a tremble in her voice. "Wade always does it when CJ's on a long run so that I'm healed up by the time he comes back."

"Well, that shit's gonna stop right now," Merle promised her, and started to walk off again, but Janine held fast to his appendage.

"Don't do it. You're not supposed to take the law into your own hands without the Governor's consent. And besides, if Wade finds out that I told you, he'll go after the kids."

"Then move out've the damn apartment, woman! Pack your shit an' git outta there!"

"I'm trying—"

"No, you ain't. Y'wanna protect your kids from 'im, leave 'im. Tell the Governor what Wade done, an' he'll make sure that your piss bucket've a boyfriend don't go near you. If he tries anythin', out he goes. That, or I'll handle 'im m'self."

"I'll take care of it, but I need you to promise me that you won't tell the Governor before I do. This is my problem, and I'll solve it on my own."

"Ain't you I'm worried about. Y'got those kids still, an' CJ won't be back from the run 'til next week sometime. Y'move outta that apartment by tomorrow, or I'm takin' this right to the Governor. An' if Wade puts his hands on them kids, I'll kill 'im, laws be damned."

"If he puts his hands on my children, I'll kill him myself," said Janine.

/ /

Normally, they tried to conserve power at night by turning off all electricity and only using candles for light so that the lab could function at higher capacity to supply enough light for Milton's experiments, but Merle needed something to take his mind off of Janine's bruised face and so he popped in a CD of a random playlist he'd found in one of the scavenged cars and turned up the volume on the CD player as he sank into the rocking chair beside the shower. He pushed the chair back and forth with his heels, tracing the tip of his blade with his finger as he stared mindlessly at a spot on the floor. The playlist was about thirty songs long and had the most random shit on it, but Merle had grown to like all of the songs, even if they weren't heavy rock like he was used to (except for Number 13, which was by some teen heartthrob pop sensation, and Merle made sure to skip this particular song every time). The music ranged from country to film soundtrack, from screamo to ballad rock, with some reggae and jazz thrown in for good measure.

He heard the chair start to squeak as he leaned too far back, thinking of the pain Janine must have felt when Wade delivered that hit to her face. He wondered if the rest of her body had similar bruises, or if only her face had suffered. She used to be strong, but Wade's presence had started to make a coward out of her, and she grew less trustful, evident in the way she had run from Merle rather than greet him or ask for his help. She thought he was friendly enough (something Merle had had to work extremely hard at so that his personality fit the Governor's standards), but she also thought that he wouldn't know the first thing about domestic violence. She had no idea…

" _-Everything collides/My childhood spat back out the monster that you see/My songs know what you did in the dark_ …"

Wade didn't know that Merle knew what was going on behind closed doors. The man was a bully, and someone who avoided responsibility if he could manage it, which was why Merle had steered clear of him so that he wouldn't be tempted to punch the man's sorry-ass face in with the rounded end of Merle's metal shell. But if Wade turned his loose hand onto the twins, Merle had no problem at all with killing him right out on the street. He'd beaten a man half to death for that kind of thing before.

"— _So light 'em up, up, up_ —"

Merle grinned to himself as he thought of the lights that burst from a rapid-fire piece of artillery.

The song ended and the next one began as Merle plotted ways in which he would kill Wade if it came to that. The Governor would want Wade exiled from Woodbury, but Merle knew that wasn't going to work any better this time than it had the last time. A few months ago, Woodbury had seen a young couple in their early twenties ask for shelter within the town, and the Governor complied, but after only two days, it was clear that these were the sort of people who thrived in the apocalypse by their sadistic demeanor and the fact that they were scoping out the armory. They'd terrorized the children and harassed one of the pregnant women at the time until Guerrero stepped in to stop them from mugging one of the older occupants of the town. They had tried to bully Guerrero as well, but Guerrero was the most skilled martial artist Merle had ever seen and took both the man and woman out in four seconds flat. After that, the Governor gave them a small bag of supplies and sent them away, only they'd come back with a vengeance and opened fire on the front gate, wounding Tim, and nearly killing Erica. Merle had been the one to cap off a bullet in both of their heads.

Wade may be too much of a coward to try that sort of frontal assault, but he would return to Woodbury if he was thrown out, which was why Merle decided to kill him by any means necessary. No good would ever come of that man, and he was better off dead before he hurt someone else.

" _Dark and dusty, painted on the sky/Misty taste of moonshine, tear drop in my eye/Country roads—"_

There came a knock on the door and without waiting for permission, Andrea entered. Merle stopped rocking and looked up at her.

"Really? John Denver?"

"Don't knock the music, sweetheart. Could've been worse; could've been good ol' fashioned redneck country with the trucks an' guitars an shit. But if it bothers ya that much, I got some songs on the CD that'll putcha in the mood."

"I'll pass."

Merle shrugged. "I'mma keep tryin', y'know I am."

"That's not why I'm here."

"Why _are_ y'here?"

"Well, you didn't come to _my_ room, so I figured you'd either forgotten to tell the Governor, or forgotten to pass the word on to me."

 _Shit._

In light of the Governor's threat toward not only Elliot, but the rest of the soldiers, the private conversation in which the Governor questioned Merle's true motives with Andrea, and Janine's beating, Andrea's request had been completely driven from his mind when it should have been his first priority, because he needed her to help him find Daryl. Yet, Daryl hadn't entered his thoughts at all since the Governor laid out his threats. Merle's concern had been for his own ass—and for his fellow soldiers and Janine's. He'd lost sight of the real goal here, which was Daryl. He couldn't afford to be distracted by the people in Woodbury if he stood a chance of finding his brother.

The Governor hadn't give him a definitive answer, but Merle was going to go through with it anyway.

"You're in."

 ***Yes, yes, I know I put actual song lyrics in here—God forbid—but I'm not taking them out.**


	5. Chapter 5: We're All Made of Lies

**MILTON**

Once he heard the others leave, Milton snuck back into the lab and started organizing his notebooks since he didn't feel that he could actually perform any experiment with how his mind was reeling after the day's events. He had to move carefully if he wanted to turn his head and more than once, he feared that he had ripped open his stitches and would need to go back to Dr. Stephens and inform her that he required her assistance again. It wasn't inconveniencing her that he minded so much; it was having to be sewn up again.

It was pure luck that Andrea had come in when she did and an act of true kindness when she allowed him to grasp her hands through the stitching process, but Milton didn't have it in him to ask her to do that again. He didn't like to rely on people, especially strangers, and Andrea was still very much a stranger to him.

 _But you told her._

He'd confided in her his suspicions about Phillip sending Merle and the others to kill Michonne—but why? Why would he so willingly put his faith in this woman when he'd been friends with Phillip for nearly four years?

 _Maybe because Phillip threw that friendship out the window in favor of killing Michonne_.

Vengeance was not a concept Milton was familiar with because it was an process accomplished by someone who acted in another's stead. It was a code of honor at the best of times, and a deed best done in the shadows at the worst of times. Today, though, Milton had partaken in his first interaction with vengeance in telling Andrea about Phillip's plan to have Michonne killed. And he'd done it because of the resentment he felt toward Phillip for casting him into the lion's den with no warning.

"I figured you'd come back here when I saw the lights off in your room."

Milton was about to wheel around to face Phillip, but remembered his neck, and turned slowly on the spot, massaging the bandage pointedly as he regarded Phillip with bitterness.

Phillip gestured at Milton's neck as he came closer. "Stitches should come off in a few weeks, Dr. Stephens said—"

"You didn't tell me," said Milton, feeling his skin stretch with every syllable. "You sent Merle and the others to kill Michonne and you used me as bait to make her come out because you were banking on her thinking I posed no threat because of how weak I am."

"Milton—"

"Tell me I'm wrong, Phillip. I was naïve enough to think that you genuinely wanted her back not just for Andrea's sake and to join Woodbury's army, but to help me in the lab so that I could continue to look for a cure for Penny. But Michonne wasn't falling for that. She knew within moments that you'd sent the others to kill her. She would have opened my jugular if Erica and the others hadn't called her off. Merle nearly got me killed because he wouldn't put his weapon down. I would have died out there just so you could have peace of mind that she was eliminated even when she was never a threat."

"Oh, Milton, y'honestly think I'd put your life on the line to kill her?"

"Yes, that's exactly what happened out there."

"I wanted to bring her back, but she chose war when she went for you," said Phillip reassuringly.

"You know, it's one thing to lie to all those people out there about how you'd found that soldier's military base overrun, but I don't appreciate being fed bullshit when it's my life on the line. Six heavily armed guards to escort one person out into the woods to look for another person who never showed any interest in staying here?"

"I think you're overreacting."

"I'd be shouting if I was overreacting, but I'm telling you this in as calm of a voice as I can muster right now: don't ever ask me to do something like that again because the answer will be no. My job here is to help Woodbury, not act as the bait for your mercenaries."

Phillip put his hands on Milton's shoulders in what he probably meant to be a comforting gesture, but to Milton, it was an unwelcome touch, and he'd already been manhandled enough for the day. Besides, he'd seen Phillip extend this sort of false endearment toward other people before, and it was normally followed up by that person having a severe accident by unforeseen circumstances. It was difficult pushing Phillip away when Milton had become so reliant on the man to help him express his feelings and ideas, but the encounter with Michonne had left Milton shaken and in a very untrustworthy mood that he hoped would dissipate in time.

He stepped back out of Phillip's reach.

"There'll be a scar," he said, motioning at the bandage. "Scars don't let you forget. And this is my first one, so you can be sure that I won't forget where I got it."

Phillip blanched and Milton knew he'd angered his friend by the way Phillip looked down and away so that Milton couldn't see the ferocity in his eyes.

"Why don't you close up here for tonight, huh? You've had a rough day. Take tonight off, get yourself some sleep."

"I'm too alert to sleep," said Milton, but even as he said it, he suddenly felt extremely tired.

"Go over your notes in your room, then. You don't need to be here tonight," said Phillip, still not looking at Milton.

"I'd rather—"

"Go to bed, Milton."

It was a firm command, and it only barely masked the emotion building up within. Milton decided not to test it any further tonight.

"Alright."

Milton scooted around Phillip who looked like he was about to throw something and hurried toward the door while trying to look like he wasn't. He passed through the narrow hallway that led out into the side alley between the lab and the building beside it and was almost out the door when he heard the voice from the shadowed nook to his left.

"Your first scar, huh, Miltie?"

"Eavesdropping is a very risky business, you know," said Milton disapprovingly as he turned to see Merle stepping out of the nook.

"Not if y'don't get caught," said Merle as he polished his blade attachment with his overshirt.

"You don't call this right here getting caught?"

"I's the one who letchoo know I'm here. I intended t'talk t'you."

Milton frowned at Merle. "After you nearly got me killed today, I'm not particularly in the mood to talk to _you_ , so if you'll excuse me."

"Weren't nothin' personal, Miltie, I'm just tryin' t'do my job."

"Your job put me at risk. The others all lowered their weapons when Michonne had me, but you still intended to fire at her, even with me still in the way. That shows your disregard for human life and even if Phillip knowingly sent me out into that type of situation, he would have had the sense to lower his weapon if my life was threatened."

Merle looked like he was trying extremely hard not to laugh, and Milton, feeling that he had been mocked enough for one day, walked off toward his room on the ground level of Phillip's apartment building. Merle tagged along behind him, much to Milton's annoyance.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?"

"Yup. Right here, talkin' t'you. I wanted t'ask y'somethin'."

"What?"

"Y'ever had a real friend, Miltie?"

The question was so unexpected, so out of the ordinary where Merle was concerned since most of his questions directed at Milton had to do with asking about what he could fiddle with in the lab that wouldn't cause an explosion if he accidentally dropped it. Why Merle Dixon would care about his, Milton's, social life was puzzling because Merle shouldn't _care_. Merle didn't even have any friends himself, so why would he want to know if Milton had any? Did he want to share? Did he want to commit himself to becoming Milton's new best friend? Somehow, Milton didn't think so.

But what would Milton answer him with? He had always considered Phillip to be a friend—at least, until the outbreak. When the world fell, Phillip's inner savage took the front seat in times of greatest need, though he'd learned to cork it up so that others wouldn't suspect and wouldn't see the real Phillip. He was not the same man he once was, and the man he once was happened to be one of the few friends Milton had. Milton never found out what happened to the other two people he considered his friends. And after today, Phillip had shown just how far he allowed his and Milton's friendship to go so that Milton wasn't feeling especially loyal to him at the moment. Who, then, did that leave, in terms of friends? Guerrero? Erica? Andrea, perhaps?

"Well?" Merle prompted when Milton had still said nothing.

"Of course I have. Phillip—"

"Naw, I don't mean somebody y'look at later'n think, 'whoa, you're a horrible fuckin' person'. I mean a legit _compadre."_

"I don't think Phillip's a horrible person—" Milton began, but Merle put his hand to Milton's forehead and knocked on it like it was a door.

"Hello, wake up, dumbass. Y'just realized how far up shit creek the Governor's mind's gone since y'knew 'im before the outbreak. Y'finally got a taste've reality an' don't bullshit me, 'cause I seen it in your face when I toldja that he'd used ya as bait an' I heard it in your voice when you were talkin' to 'im just now. He's a horrible fuckin' person, an' you're tryin' to ignore that. You'd defend 'im even if it cost you your life. He's got you whipped, son."

"Phillip doesn't frighten me. I already shared my opinion about Phillip with someone else who I know can keep her mouth shut—"

"Her?" Merle repeated as they came to a halt in front of the red-brick apartment. "Y'gone an' shared your true feelins with a _woman_?"

Knowing he'd already said too much, Milton tried to dodge around Merle again, but Merle was far too interested in finding out which woman Milton had confided in.

"C'mon now, son, don't hold out on me. Y'done tipped a few beans outta the can, now y'gotta spill 'em all out. Gimme the details."

"We didn't engage in sexual intercourse," said Milton with repugnance. "I only spoke my mind to her. It was a very trying day and I needed to get a weight off of my shoulders."

"And y'couldn't do that with your buddy the Governor?"

Milton chewed on the inside of his lip to prevent himself from replying. No, he couldn't do that with Phillip if his problem had been _about_ Phillip. Merle, however, seemed to guess the answer to his own question as he leaned back and gave a semi-sympathetic shake of his head.

"See, I knew that so-called friendship y'got with the Governor's just bullshit. Y'hurtin' after t'day, ain'tcha, Miltie? Y'got stabbed in the back an y'don't know how t'take it, innet right?"

"I have no comment," said Milton. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I don't want to talk to you anymore."

"Why not? Y'know me better'n any lady friend y'might have."

"That's all the more cause to not confide in you," snapped Milton. "I don't need to know someone to express my feelings."

"Was it Andrea?"

 _Dammit._ How was it possible that both Merle and Andrea had managed to weasel the truth out of him in one day when he'd always considered himself an expert in concealing emotion? How could two people who had never seen a genuine passionate emotion from him read him so easily?

"Yeah, she's got that effect on men," said Merle with a knowing smile. "Got kinda hot in the nether regions when she got close, didn't it?"

Now Milton had heard enough.

"Merle, leave me the hell alone, or I'll tell Phillip who really shot Elliot and we'll see just how much he values his lieutenant who's so full of shit and lies that he can't take a hint when it's bottle-fed to him."

Merle shoved Milton against the wall and took a fistful of Milton's bangs to hold his head up. He put the tip of his blade to Milton's throat so that Milton couldn't even swallow without his Adams apple pressing against it. For the second time that day, Milton froze under threat of having someone with a blade open his throat, and for the third time, he felt utterly helpless when confronted with his worst fear.

"Say somethin' else, Miltie, I dare ya."

Milton knew better, and Merle knew that he did too, which made for a much harder pill to swallow because Milton hated giving Merle the satisfaction of knowing he'd won. Merle's ego only grew with every victory and despite losing Michonne in the woods, Merle had managed to save his pathetic skin by lying to Phillip, which was a victory in anyone's book. And the reason that Milton didn't want to speak to Merle in the first place was because of this savage brute that came forth whenever the two of them tried to hold a conversation. Milton couldn't trust himself to keep his tongue in check by talking down to Merle and outwitting him through large vocabulary words, which only angered Merle and brought out the beast in him.

And yet…Merle had come to him to ask something of him, hadn't he? Not just to ask if Milton had friends; that was just Merle dodging around the question to toy with Milton. No, Merle had come to ask Milton something that couldn't be asked in front of the others, especially Phillip, but since Phillip had been in the lab with Milton, Merle had waited outside. As a soldier of Woodbury, Merle had the right to walk around as he pleased, but Milton had seen him retire to his room and thought Merle would be there the rest of the night. But no, Merle had come looking for him and it wasn't to taunt him.

"I believe you had a question for me," said Milton, feeling his eyes start to water from the hold Merle had on his bangs.

Merle scoffed, but his eyes never left Milton. He kept that forced eye contact as the side of his mouth pulled off to form a smirk akin to the one Guerrero always wore.

"That's a piss-poor way t'change the subject, Miltie."

"You came to ask me something from the beginning, and if you'd done that without joking around, we wouldn't be here right now, would we? So what's the question?"

Merle released Milton and took a step back, still refusing to look away.

"I want ya to make sure Janine an' her kids're moved into a new apartment tomorrow an' if they're still in the same place at the end've the day, y'go to the Governor an' y'tell 'im t'make 'em move out."

Merle's behavior was actually starting to have Milton genuinely concerned for Merle's well-being because these acts of interest in other people's lives was as un-Merle-like as it was possible to be.

"Might I ask why?"

Contemplating Milton's question, Merle stalled for time by looking up the north end of the street—and then he pulled out his pistol. He turned to Milton and for one wild moment, Milton thought Merle intended to shoot him, but when Merle looked at Milton's hip, he pushed the pistol into Milton's hands.

"Y'gotta start carryin' a weapon on ya, son. There's times inside the walls when y'might need one—like now. Stay with me an' watch my ass."

Milton was about to ask why when he saw the biters staggering up the street in their direction.


	6. Chapter 6: Joining the Ranks

**ANDREA**

She had gone back to her room with a feeling of giddiness that she couldn't remember feeling since Shane had taught her how to properly handle a gun. Merle had confirmed it; she was in. In the morning, she'd take her first official watch as a Woodbury soldier and show everyone who doubted the flu-ridden blonde chick that she was more than just a pretty face who carried a gun for looks. She was probably the best female shooter here and may even outrank some of the men because she'd seen some of them shoot and they didn't always hit their targets. The exceptions that she'd seen were Merle and that man with the shoulder-length wavy hair and circular glasses who'd both hit their targets dead-on every time.

But women were few and far between in the army and Andrea was determined to prove that not only was _she_ useful, but women were useful in general since the majority of the women here were either elderly, pregnant, or complete dunces. She planned to climb the ranks just as Merle had suggested until she'd earned her way into this inner circle and then, she'd know what kind of person she was dealing with. Of course, she also planned to pry information out of Merle and Milton when the opportunity presented itself, but she wasn't afraid to spend time earning the Governor's trust. It wouldn't take long for her to be promoted, of that she was certain, because in the apocalypse, promotions came ten times as fast given that there were ten times less people to otherwise fill the position.

She'd started to undress for the night and had almost begun to unhook her bra when she heard the shouts from outside and rushed to the window to see the north wall guard firing onto the street on the other side of the walls while others pressed themselves against the gate. And as people began to pull up their blinds, switch on their lights, and open their doors, Andrea saw a gaggle of walkers converging on two figures in the middle of the street. The pit fires illuminated the two and Andrea saw the blade attached to one of their arms.

Merle. Of course it was Merle, right out in the thick of things. And, judging by the way the other man with him was turning wildly on the spot while Merle tried to single-handedly fend off the walkers, Merle's companion had to be Milton.

Andrea slipped her shirt back on, snatched up her knife from her bedside table, and ran. She almost trampled a middle-aged man on the stairs as she flew down each step and sprinted out into the street. Merle was struggling to keep a walker off of Milton while groping with another that had become stuck on his blade. Andrea put on a burst of speed and reached the two at the same time that the other accurate shooter with the wavy hair and glasses did.

She drove her knife upward into a walker's cerebrum and let it fall as she pulled another off of Milton who had managed to keep it at arm's length. Merle knocked over the walker stuck on his blade, planted his foot on the walker's chest, and heaved so that his blade popped free.

"Guerrero, get that an' follow me," Merle told the man with the wavy hair. He spotted Andrea and grinned. "Y'wanna start provin' y'self tonight, Blondie?"

"I think I already have," said Andrea, showing him the walker blood on her knife.

"I ain't the one y'gotta impress. The Governor's gonna be watchin'. Come with me an' help me snipe from the wall."

"How many you figure?" asked Guerrero as he finished pummeling in the walker's face.

The gate gave a foreboding _boom_ and Merle shrugged. "Enough t'do that. C'mon."

Andrea started to follow, but then realized that Milton was still standing in shock from where she had saved him. The stitches on his neck had reopened, but he didn't seem to notice as he breathed heavily and gazed at the walker body at his feet.

"Milton, get inside," said Andrea. "You're bleeding again."

Raising a shaking hand to his neck, Milton felt the wound and as his fingers came away bloody, Andrea saw his face fall in disappointment, though she suspected that was his way of showing fear.

"Milton, unless you're going to help us on the walls, you need to get inside," she said more loudly this time. "Have Dr. Stephens patch you up again, unless you want to wait for me to be there with you."

This seemed to bring Milton out of a daze as he looked at her in a way that Andrea thought made him appear offended.

"I don't need someone to hold my hand through this."

"Then go get it done, but don't just stand there."

"Blondie, move that ass!"

Andrea gave Milton a small push to get him moving as she backed up toward the sound of Merle's voice. "Go on, Milton, before more walkers push through the hole. Go!"

Milton ran for the infirmary and Andrea raced after Merle and Guerrero. She saw several men trying to barricade the hole where the walkers had gotten in while others attempted to put down the walkers that were still clawing their way through. At the gate, six guards were pressed up against the reinforced wood as the walkers piled up on the other side. Four more guards were shooting through silenced weapons atop the wall and Andrea ran up behind Merle and Guerrero to take up a position.

There had to be close to thirty or forty walkers pushing up against one another to break through the gate and the floodlights that had come on to present a better target for the snipers was only drawing in more. For every walker a guard put down, another took its place. Guerrero tossed Andrea a rifle as she stood abreast with the other guards, but she hesitated.

She'd only ever handled a rifle a few times and she wasn't an expert with it by any means. Her weapon of choice was the pistol, but she didn't have the option of asking for one right now. She put the rifle scope to her eye, centered in on a walker's skull, and fired. The bullet was high and left, hitting the walker behind her target in the shoulder. She tried again and was rewarded with her target's brains splattering over its fellows.

"What in the hell's goin' on out here?" yelled the Governor as he came running onto the scene with an automatic slung over his shoulder. Behind him came a set of fraternal twins, one with a black buzz cut and the other with his golden hair tucked back in a ponytail.

"They must've been leanin' up against that weak spot in the fence an' broken right through," said Merle levelly as he continued to shoot down walkers.

"But where'd this horde come from?" asked Guerrero. "Just boom—hit us outta nowhere."

"It doesn't matter where they came from; if we don't do something to get rid of them, they're going to push right through the gate," said the only other woman atop the wall, the one Andrea had seen return from the earlier scouting excursion with Merle.

"I got it," said Guerrero. "Gimme three bikes, two men, and one minute and I'll put half of 'em down and drive the other half off."

"You can't drive off a herd this size with three men," said the Governor, shaking his head as he popped a bullet off in a walker's nostril. "There's too much noise comin' from inside Woodbury and they're surgin' forward with too much force."

"Trust me, dude, I got this—"

The wall shuddered under the impact of the herd slamming into the gate and Andrea felt her legs wobble. The other woman, however, had been standing near the open space at the edge and even as she windmilled her arms, she lost her balance. Andrea and Guerrero both grabbed the back of the woman's jacket to keep her from toppling over into the mass of walkers below and she let out a terrified scream as the walkers reached up for her. The twins ran to assist Andrea and Guerrero who all leaned back and hauled the woman onto the wall where she took ten seconds to calm herself and then fixed her face into one of composure.

Andrea had to admire her; this woman knew how not to lose her head in a crisis and she set an incredible example for the rest of Woodbury's female population to follow.

"Alright, go," said the Governor. "Do what you gotta do, but make it count."

"Tate, Wes, with me," said Guerrero, motioning at the twins who took off after him as he ran for the back entrance.

"What's he going to do?" asked Andrea.

"Knowing him, something both brilliant and stupid," said the woman, stepping wisely back from the edging as the wall gave another shudder. "I'm Erica, by the way, and thank you."

"Don't mention it."

Andrea only had time to pick out two more targets when she saw a light blast on bright, blinding her to the walkers below.

"Cover!" shouted Guerrero's voice from the woods.

"Everyone down now!" hollered the Governor.

Merle seized Andrea by the front of her shirt and pulled her down into a squat in front of him as bullets riddled the front of the wall after passing through walker skulls. Andrea screwed up her eyes at the sound, but could still make out Merle staring adamantly at her knees as they crouched with their foreheads nearly touching. Merle didn't even look fazed by the gunfire.

Andrea heard two blasts from a motorcycle horn and dared to peek over the tires to see the remaining walkers starting to lumber off after Guerrero and the twins who were all circling the street on motorcycles, flashing their lights and honking to gain the walkers' attention. If a walker got too close, they'd put on a burst of speed, but not enough to leave the walkers behind.

"How long do they have to keep that up to make sure the walkers clear out?" asked Andrea, squinting to keep track of the three.

"About three miles up the road," said the Governor. "Meanwhile, we repair the damage and deal with stragglers." He pointed out the small handful of walkers that remained, bumping into the gate and clawing at the guards above.

"I got it," said Merle, and then he and Martinez hopped down off of the wall.

Andrea saw that there were still two walkers being held off by unarmed Woodbury citizens who were struggling to seal up the hole in the fence. She gripped her knife in her dominant hand, ran down the ramp, and dashed over to the nearest walker, smashing its head against the brick wall so that its brains oozed down the side. She stabbed the second behind its ear and added her weight to the buildup of six people attempting to push an obstacle in the way of the hole until repairs could be made in the morning. When the blockade finally slid into place, everyone checked one another for bites or scratches.

"Hot damn, Blondie, y'got some fine-ass moves there," complimented Merle as Andrea finished accepting thanks from the citizens whose aid she had come to.

"She can shoot," said the Governor appreciatively just a few steps behind Merle. "And shoot well, for that matter, which's more than I can say for some've our own. She knows how to work a knife too. I say y'start her on proper rifle and shotgun technique in the mornin', Merle."

"I thoughtchoo wanted me out doin' m'rounds," said Merle pointedly and he and the Governor shared a look that didn't go unnoticed by Andrea.

"Benson's been takin' some lessons from you, hasn't he? He'll take Fletcher, Elliot, and Erica out. Y'all can start up again day after tomorrow, providin' Guerrero makes it back."

Merle shrugged and turned to Andrea.

"Guess we got a date, Blondie. I'll walk ya back t'your room."

Andrea went, knowing that Merle had something to add that wasn't for anyone's ears but hers, and she wiped the blood from her knife on a ripped part of her shirt as she walked beside him.

"Y'done good," said Merle with an approving grin as the town began to quiet back down and the soldiers went from door to door to reassure everyone that the danger had passed. "Made a good impression on the big man."

"That was the goal, but what did he originally want to have you go out and do tomorrow instead of train me?"

Merle's grin faltered. "Awe, c'mon, now, y'had t'go an' ruin the moment."

"There was never a moment, Merle."

"Sure there was. Seein' you take out them biters by just snatchin' up your weapons an' goin' at it without havin' t'be told where the damn trigger is was hot as hell."

"Is that what you wanted to talk to me about out of the Governor's earshot?"

Merle opened his body posture to her as he leaned against the wall to her apartment complex. "Bingo. Don't gotta preach it to the whole town, y'know. I reserve my flirtin' for more private occasions."

"You can keep trying, but that's never going to work on me."

"Don't count me out, Blondie. We got some long trainin' sessions ahead've us," said Merle with a wink.

Andrea wanted to be able to roll her eyes and give a snort of disgust as she had so many times before with Merle, but even she couldn't deny the fact that under all of that sexist flirtation, there was something genuinely attractive about his attempts. Maybe it was how he could return to that sort of act so quickly after putting down a horde of walkers, or maybe it was because he seemed so adolescent at times like a schoolboy trying out different techniques to ask out his first crush. And though his persistence might have been taken as obsession borderlining on stalking by some, Andrea knew Merle well enough to know that he did it to let her know that were they not only still on good terms, but he was truly appreciative of her efforts in helping to keep Woodbury safe and find out what the Governor was doing without Merle having to tell her.

"See ya at seven o'clock," said Merle, and as he walked away with a confident strut, he glanced back over his shoulder almost as if he knew that Andrea would still be watching and his face split back into that all-knowing grin.


	7. Chapter 7: Painful Memories

**MERLE**

As Merle suspected, Andrea needed very little instruction on the proper handling of guns, not that he didn't try to give her pointers to improve on her stance and positioning as she practiced in the small blocked-off section of the town specifically set up for training. The Governor had allotted for Merle to spend the whole day training her, but by nine o'clock, there was little left to teach her in the ways of regular artillery. She would need to climb to a higher rank if she wanted to handle the big toys.

Still, he kept her on shotguns until he was satisfied that she could shoot at waist-level, eye-level, and one-handed. She had a habit of locking both of her legs forward when using the one-handed technique, and Merle kept having to prod her hip to make her step up slightly so that her back leg could take the recoil. When she failed to follow this instruction for the third time, Merle stepped in behind her, put his hand on one side of her waist and the flat side of his metal shell on the other, and moved her into the proper position, holding for at least ten seconds to be sure that she got the message.

"Y'don't give yourself that extra step, y'gonna knock y'self flat on your ass an' then all that fancy shootin' won't count for nothin' when the biters getcha."

"Thanks, I got it, you can let go now," said Andrea, nudging his hand off of her hip with the butt of the shotgun.

"He just can't resist," said Guerrero, lumbering into the training area with the twins behind him. All three of them had dark circles under their eyes and were rather pale in the early summer sunlight, but they were whole and unscathed.

"Took ya long enough," Merle observed. "Stop for a coffee break on the way back?"

"Had to run 'em out another four miles past where we thought we could lose 'em," said Wes, the buzz-cut one and taller of the twins. "They kept wanting to turn back. We finally managed to shake 'em at the turnpike, but by then, we knew the engines would just attract 'em back with us, so we turned the bikes off and waited it out in the trees."

"You spent the night up in the trees?" said Andrea, sounding both impressed and sympathetic.

"Well, it wasn't like we had a lot of options," Guerrero reasoned. "Tate ruined any chance we had in trying to get into the gas station right off the highway. He bumped the damn alarm system and Wes had to distract the biters while I dismantled it this morning, otherwise another horde would've gathered by now."

"It was hard to see; he didn't know," Wes defended.

"He had the headlights right over the door!"

"Honest mistake," said Wes.

"Why don't you let Tate speak for himself?" asked Andrea, and in the uncomfortable silence that followed, Guerrero shook his head.

"You need to brush up on the townsfolk, dude," he told Andrea. "Tate don't talk. He's a mute; got his tongue cut out when he was a kid."

Andrea looked embarrassed, but Tate waved her mumbled apology off. His ponytail had loose strands of hair coming out, giving him the appearance of an exhausted and disheveled puppy in addition to his droopy eyes and pouty lips. Despite this, he was a rather optimistic man with the mannerisms of a child sometimes. When the situation called for it, he could hold his own in a fight, but other times, he acted as innocent and young as the other set of twins in Woodbury, Nathan and Nina.

"We communicate by sign language sometimes, but for those people who don't know how, he has a small whiteboard he carries on him so he can write down quick messages," explained Wes. "It's not the best solution, but it's all we've got."

Tate signed something to Wes and though Merle had only known the twins for some eleven months, he had picked up on some of the signs they used. This one he recognized, though he didn't feel threatened by it because Tate was too childish and naïve to match up with Andrea.

"He says you're very attractive," said Wes and Andrea beamed. It wasn't a forced smile, either, but one that Merle understood to mean genuine appreciation.

"That's real cute," said Guerrero. "You two wanna pull your heads outta your asses and come make the report with me?"

When they had gone, Andrea was still smiling and Merle snapped his fingers in front of her face to bring her back to reality.

"Whatchoo smilin' at?"

"Nothing," said Andrea, not troubling to hide the beam plastered to her face.

"Don't tell me y'fell for the mute's doey-eyed act."

That wiped the smile right off of Andrea's face and she reserved a scathing look for Merle before she returned to her defensive shooting stance. "I thought it was cute. He seems like a good person and I'd like to get to know him better."

"Y'best leave 'im alone. He's not big on talkin' to other people."

"You're an asshole, you know that? I know he's not big on talking to other people, and I don't care. I've dealt with mutes before and he's the nicest one I've met."

"He ain't worth your time if y'wanna be headin' up that military ladder, Blondie. Puttin' aside time t'spend figurin' him out ain't worth it when y'gotta conserve all your energy for your trainin'."

Andrea lowered her shotgun slightly. "What do you mean he's not worth my time?"

"He's like a golden retriever, sweetheart; he's loveable and he aims t'please, but when it comes t'actin' his age, he's stupid."

Andrea blasted her target and then shoved the shotgun into Merle's hands. "Well, if he's been hanging around you for the past eleven months, I can see where he gets it from."

She stomped off toward the infirmary and Merle waited until she was out of sight to kick the wall in frustration. Andrea might be one hot piece of ass, but her mood swings gave Merle whiplash and what had started out as a constructive morning had ended in a heated argument on account of Tate the Human Retriever.

/ /

Merle had the nine to midnight shift at the back wall and spent his time pacing, going over his argument with Andrea in his head and wondering what he might have said differently to get a more favorable outcome. He hadn't meant to make Tate look like a complete moron, but of course his words came out that way because even puppy-dog-eyed Tate could make Merle jealous when the former made Andrea smile so warmly while she still regarded Merle with exhausted tolerance at best. Not that Merle thought Tate and Andrea would ever amount to an item, but the mute was more successful in getting people to like him without even trying and here was Merle a year after meeting Andrea with still no luck on moving past the dugout on his journey to make a home run.

And if he was completely honest with himself, it hadn't felt good putting Tate down to try and make himself appear as the better candidate either because Tate was exactly what Andrea had said he was: a good person. The kids adored him, the adults respected him, and the Governor admired him because Tate was always busy contributing somehow. He would take Mrs. Nedemeyer's dog for a walk on days where her old legs couldn't take the strain; he would get up early even on days where he didn't have a morning shift and water the flower beds, prep the coffee bar, restock supplies and weapons, clean the windows, dust the front porches, rinse out the bedpans in the infirmary, or play his banjo on a bench in the middle of town. He was a bright, sunny presence on the dreariest of days and Merle should have been happy for Andrea that she'd been subjected to Tate's cheery personality.

But he wasn't because Tate managed to do naturally what Merle had struggled to do all his life and that was make people like him.

"Lonely back here, isn't it?"

Merle turned to see Becky, the town's most flirtatious woman (and privately, Merle and the other soldiers would call her the town's prostitute) climbing the ladder to join him on the wall. She had wavy raven hair that came halfway down her back and even in the apocalypse, still insisted on wearing gobs of black mascara and eye shadow. She had most recently left Crowley's bed after about two months rooming with him and it was a known fact that she was on the prowl for someone else to take her in.

"Ain't lonely if y'don't want no one around," said Merle, in no mood to flirt with her.

"So Andrea's joined the army, then?" asked Becky, pretending not to hear him.

"She's in the rotation, so I'd take that t'mean _duh_. She's s'posed t'relieve me in about fifteen minutes."

"Even after she found out that the Governor sent you to kill her friend?" said Becky slyly.

Merle rounded on her. "Who toldja that?"

"Crowley."

"Who told him?"

"No one. He overheard it when Elliot and Fletcher were talking."

Merle didn't see what harm it would do in having Becky know about the Governor's true methods; it didn't affect him. He turned back to watch the street below.

"I saw you training Andrea earlier," said Becky when Merle was silent for a whole minute.

"She don't need no trainin'. I's just showin' her the right way t'hold a shotgun."

Out of the corner of his eye, Merle saw Becky step in closer to him. "You were mighty touchy-feely with her just to show her how to position a shotgun. You should be ashamed of yourself." But she said it with a grin that Merle could actually hear since he was still partially ignoring her by not acknowledging her presence beside him. "Why don't you show me how to shoot properly?"

"Y'wanna join up with the army, y'gotta ask the Governor. Ain't my call."

"I don't want to join the army; I want lessons on how to shoot so that I'm prepared for disaster," said Becky and Merle felt her arm against his.

"Crowley knows how t'shoot, go ask 'im."

"It's not Crowley I want to learn from, though," said Becky, and she grabbed Merle's crotch.

Merle stepped back and shoved her hand away, but she followed him, smirking at his reaction. As close as three weeks ago, Merle might have taken her up on that offer in a heartbeat after going so long without any sexual relief, but now he just found it revolting. He couldn't say why, but the thought of sharing the same bed as a woman who'd been with Crowley and Martinez was not an appealing thought at all. He'd never set standards for himself—a woman was a woman—but in the past, his one-night stands had seen him wake up to a morning of snorting coke and if there was one thing he didn't need reminding of, it was narcotics.

He didn't want a woman just to have a woman; he wanted it to be worth his while. His abstinence in the past year had caused his desires to need something more fulfilling than just a body to stick his dick in. What he wanted was something that felt familiar in a positive way, something that promiscuous, silver-tongued, clueless Becky didn't have. Now that the end of the world had come, Merle had unknowingly set the bar and he wanted a woman who wasn't looking to hide behind him or cower from the biters. He wanted a woman who could hold her own and not rely on him to protect her; someone who could be his equal in battle. Someone who knew who he really was underneath this façade the Governor had manufactured for him.

"Jumpy, aren't you?" said Becky teasingly, taking one step forward for every step back of his. "You know, all the men in the army have someone to warm their beds at night except for you, Merle. And since your shift ends in just a few minutes, I was wondering if you'd like me to be there for you tonight to keep you warm."

"It's summer—already fuckin' hot 'nough in my room. Sorry, but no thanks."

"Then we won't need the blankets, will we?"

Becky had backed Merle into the wall and put her hand on his crotch again, rubbing it tantalizingly, but Merle found that he was not even slightly aroused. It was not lust he felt, but the same feelings he always had when people he didn't particularly like touched him against his will: terror and anger. He put his hand out to push her away, but she took it and brought it down between her legs.

 _Alright, that's fucking enough._

Merle shoved her and she stumbled back, all sense of play gone from her face.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Dixon?"

"Fuck's wrong with _you_? I toldja no, now back the fuck off."

"Don't tell me you've gone celibate. I know you still want a nice, long, dirty fuck, so what's holding you back?"

Merle didn't have a ready answer, but as he glanced off to the side, he saw Andrea walking toward the wall to take over his shift. Becky followed his gaze and if ever a woman had a resting bitch face, she did as she saw what Merle was looking at.

"Really? _That's_ who you want to fuck?"

"Y'know what she's got goin' for her, she ain't you," said Merle, hoping his words stung.

"Fuck you, asshole," said Becky, flipping him the bird as she went to the ladder and started to climb down as Andrea was climbing up. "Move, bitch," she snapped at Andrea.

Andrea stepped aside so that Becky could reach the ground and storm off. Wide-eyed in bewilderment, Andrea climbed up and nodded in Becky's direction. "What was that all about?"

"Skank couldn't take a hint," said Merle, relieved that he hadn't had to resort to physical violence to get her to back off.

"You turned her down?" said Andrea incredulously. "Well, that doesn't sound like Merle Dixon at all. I thought you weren't particular about your fuck buddies."

"She's hit every bachelor in town," said Merle, plopping down on a tier of tires that doubled as a shield against snipers from below. "Ain't my type."

"I thought your type just needed to have a vagina," said Andrea, sitting on the tier next to him.

"I ain't lookin' t'get STD's in the apocalypse. Gimme more credit than that, Blondie."

"Then give her more credit. Maybe she wasn't always so floozy before the outbreak, maybe she was. Maybe that's how she learned to take care of herself, by offering up her body. If that's what she's had to do to survive, don't judge her based off of it."

"I ain't judgin' her for that. I turned 'er down 'cause she's a bitch. Moody, selfish, sexually harassin' people—"

"So the female version of you," Andrea guessed.

Merle opened his mouth to retort, but closed it almost instantly. She had him there, only, from his perspective, it had seemed like an acceptable thing to do as long as _he_ was the one doing and not receiving any of those negative qualities. Leave it to Andrea to bring up feminism at world's end.

"You did more than just turn her down, though, didn't you? I saw you push her."

"She was gropin' me," said Merle defensively. Andrea raised an eyebrow in an unasked question that clearly said, _And that didn't get you off?_ "And no, it didn't. I told 'er t'leave me alone'n she came at me despite it."

"Sound familiar?"

"Don'tchoo accuse me've bein' a rapist, woman," said Merle, standing up in fury. "I may be rough in the sheets an' downright mean with words, but I ain't somebody who goes 'round feelin' people up or puttin' my hands on 'em after they say t'back the fuck off. I don't hit people unless they deserve it."

Andrea got to her feet, slow to rise and come up to his eye level with a look that suggested that she was trying to read him…again. "I never said you hit her, Merle. I never said you were a rapist either. I only suggested that your sexual innuendos don't stop when someone doesn't show interest. What did you think I meant?"

"It don't matter," said Merle dismissively. Andrea was trying to get him to spill more intimate details and he wasn't in the mood now or ever to discuss that.

"You know," said Andrea, dropping her gaze to look out at the woods beyond the walls, "When I was on the farm, Daryl got hurt looking for Sophia. He needed stitches and the man who owned the farm, Hershel, patched him up. I saw Daryl's back then and I can shoot for an accurate guess on what happened to him."

"What was wrong with his back?" asked Merle swiftly. What had Andrea seen that Merle never had? Come to think of it, _how_ had Merle never seen his brother's bare back and whatever was there for Daryl to hide?

"You mean you don't know?"

And suddenly, Merle was afraid for his baby brother for something that Merle suspected had happened long ago. Here at the end of the world, so much worse could happen to Daryl than could have happened before, but Merle was fearful of what Andrea was about to tell him because if it was the same thing that Merle thought it was, he had failed ten times over as a brother.

"Someone beat him badly," said Andrea, watching Merle for reaction. "He has scars and old welts like someone took a belt to him when he was young."

 _Oh, god._

The bastard had done it to Daryl too. Daryl, who was only eight years old, nine years Merle's junior when Merle left. Merle had taken it for eight years of his own, too weak and small to fight back or even think of leaving, but when he did, he thought Daryl at least would be safe. The old man never showed such hatred toward Daryl as he did for Merle.

"It happened to you too, didn't it?" asked Andrea. "Whoever it was, they hit you hard enough to leave marks and you spent however long it was being terrified of anyone's touch."

"Don't do that," Merle snapped. "Don't act like a goddamn shrink."

"You reacted to Becky groping you by shoving her and almost knocking her on her ass. If you'd done anything else, she'd be reporting you to the Governor. You were willing to do it, though, because your brain is hardwired to defend yourself when someone puts their hands on you. It doesn't matter if it's a woman trying to seduce you or someone clapping you on the shoulder to tell you that you did a good job; everyone's touch reminds you of what happened to you."

"I'm closin' this down right now," Merle warned. "We're done talkin' about it."

"You can trust me, Merle."

Merle held up the metal shell attached to the stump of his right arm. "Can I, Blondie. _Can I_?"

Andrea deliberated a moment, but then found her rebuttal. "Yes, you can, because I know who shot Elliot and why, and I haven't told the Governor about that or the fact that you're planning on dumping this place to look for Daryl as soon as you find out what you need to from the farm."

Merle should have been furious with her for not only figuring out the part about Elliot, but also because she would use that information against him, but instead, he found himself impressed against his will.

"Y'blackmailin' me, Blondie?"

"If you mean that I'm trying to help you not be such a dick by reminding you why you can already trust me to help you, then yes, I am," said Andrea stoutly.

"Not bad."

Merle handed her his rifle and she slung the strap over her shoulder.

"I guess I'll see you in the morning, then," said Andrea, but as Merle went around her to get to the ladder, he reached under her shoulder to set the rifle more comfortably in the crook of her arm. Andrea frowned slightly at him.

"I'm goin', I'm goin'," said Merle, starting his awkward descent one rung at a time.

"What did you say to her right before she walked off?"

"Huh?"

"What did you say to Becky?"

"She wanted t'know why I didn't perk up when she touched me. Wondered why her charms weren't workin'."

"But what did _you_ say?"

Merle looked up at Andrea and smirked. "I told her I had my eyes on somebody else."


	8. Chapter 8: The Same as It Ever Was

**MILTON**

"Dude, I thought you were supposed to go back in and have Dr. Stephens patch you up again?" asked Guerrero when he arrived to help Milton move some lab equipment.

Milton's hand went instinctively up to his neck where he had plastered a bandage over his wound in hopes of it healing on its own so that he wouldn't have to return to Dr. Stephens and sit through another session of her poking at him with a needle. He thought that he would be able to handle his reopened wound himself, but if Guerrero could see blood seeping through the bandage, Milton hadn't done a very good job of it.

"She said there might be additional bleeding, but it's nothing to be concerned about," said Milton dismissively.

"Did she also say that you're full of shit?" Guerrero added, fixing Milton with his cocky expression that Milton found so off-putting. "You're gonna bleed out real quick if you don't get that taken care of."

"It's mending on its own," said Milton as he squatted to lift a crate with Guerrero's help.

Guerrero put one hand on top of the crate so that Milton couldn't even begin to lift it and lowered his voice. "I saw Michonne cut you, dude, and it ain't no papercut. That's a serious slice a few centimeters from your jugular, and you need to have it fixed or I'm gonna end up having to put you down after you reanimate halfway through moving these boxes. I'm not bullshitting you either; you're gonna go get stitched back up on your own, or I'll drag you behind me. It's your choice, but it's gonna happen either way."

Milton quickly scanned Guerrero over in contemplation. The man was at least five inches shorter and probably twenty to thirty pounds lighter, but what he lacked in height he made up for in muscle. Like Merle, Guerrero was all muscle and no fat, which made him stronger than someone like Milton whose slight plumpness far outweighed any physical attributes he might have. Guerrero would have no trouble quite literally dragging Milton behind him to the infirmary and the shorter man fully intended to. But the prospect of having to sit through another agonizing twenty minutes while a needle and thread violated his skin wasn't something Milton felt he could face alone, and while he was grateful to have had Andrea there the first time, he didn't want to ask her to accompany him this time, especially after rejecting her additional offer to escort him to the infirmary. And he couldn't very well ask Guerrero to distract him during the stitching process, nor did he want to. He wanted to keep his needle phobia as under wraps as possible.

"So what's it gonna be, Milts?"

Milton was saved the trouble of responding when Elliot, Fletcher, and the Harper twins came in.

"Does it take six people to move twenty boxes?" grumbled Fletcher.

"It's delicate lab equipment from the science lab in the Lexington University," said Milton. "The Governor wants me to examine everything with care, but we need the floor clear to perform other duties, so the items I'm not able to get to right now need to be stored off to the side, which requires individuals capable of heavy lifting—"

"Milton, I got it," said Fletcher, lifting an entire box on his own with almost no effort. "I'm just exercising my right to complain, okay, don't feel the need to lecture us all, Jesus—"

"Four of us can get it done," said Guerrero. "Tate, take Milton over to the infirmary. His neck needs stitching up again."

Tate gave Guerrero the thumbs up.

"I don't need—" Milton began, but Guerrero pointed to the door and said in a very firm, very final sort of way, " _Out._ "

So Milton went. Tate was surprisingly good company as they walked toward the infirmary, for he smiled at the birds that were roosting in the trees above and even whistled back at them with that childish look of pure bliss on his face. His attention to details not involving Milton's injury made it so that Milton didn't have to try and lie on the spot. However, he wished Tate could have spoken for him when the two of them walked in and Dr. Stephens saw Milton's neck.

"When did that open up again?" she demanded.

"Only this morning," Milton invented, knowing full well that she would discover the truth when she had a closer look at it.

Dr. Stephens looked toward the ceiling as if asking a higher being for patience and then gestured at the patient table. "Hop on up there; you know the drill."

"You can leave now," Milton told Tate, but Dr. Stephens called Tate back.

"No, you stay. I need someone to distract him or this is going to take days to get done. Just do what you can to keep his attention on you and whatever you do, don't let him look at the needles or himself."

Tate pulled up a chair in front of the table as Milton climbed up into place and waited for Dr. Stephens to scold him. Sure enough, once she'd peeled away the bandage, Milton heard her swear under her breath and then step back to look him in the eye.

"'This morning' my ass. When did it open up, and you'd better be honest with me this time."

"Two nights ago," said Milton with a hard swallow. "When the biters got in. I didn't notice it until a few hours after because the adrenaline had blocked out any pain. I had been grappling with a biter and it must have happened then."

"Milton, why is this so hard for you to just let me do my job when it needs doing? I could put you under while I work on you, you know that—"

"Okay, first of all, we save the anesthesia for people who legitimately need it in order for you to proceed with surgery, so we won't be wasting any of it on me. Secondly, I thought I could tend to it myself and that there was nothing to report if it didn't bleed again, which it didn't until just a few minutes ago in the lab. And thirdly, I don't want you prodding me with anymore needles than need to be inserted into me, so anesthesia is out of the question anyway."

Tate tugged on Milton's pant leg and made a shrugging gesture at the needles in Dr. Stephens's hands.

"Trypanophobia," said Dr. Stephens. "Milton doesn't like needles, which is why you're here, Tate. That new woman, Andrea, was here to help last time by distracting Milton while I stitched him up, but I don't know where she is now and I don't have time to send someone to look for her. Just keep Milton talking to you while I work."

Tate brought out his whiteboard, selected a blue marker, and jotted down a message to Milton. Dr. Stephens went to work on the first stitch, but Milton focused on Tate writing and then read the untidy scrawl on Tate's board.

 _Don't like needles, or what needles imply?_

"Both, I suppose," said Milton, biting his lip as Dr. Stephens finished the second stitch. "The needles hurt more because I was frightened of the pain at first. From the very first time I had one stuck into my skin, it hurt, and my brain stored that knowledge so that every time after, I panicked when I was in close proximity to needles, anticipating the pain, and therefore, it hurt more when the doctors and nurses had trouble putting one in me because I wouldn't stay still, so they tied me down and—"

He inhaled sharply as Dr. Stephens had to force the fifth stitch and Tate scribbled away at his whiteboard, tapping the edge on Milton's knee when he'd finished to get Milton's attention.

 _Why all the needles as a kid?_

"I was a very ill child," Milton explained. "I was always sick with some virus or another and my allergies were preposterous, so I spent many hours being pricked and poked with needles that all fed me various forms of antibiotics and others that monitored my heartbeat and such. I probably spent more time hooked up to needles than I did not being hooked up."

Tate's face fell and Milton read the empathy there. Of course, Tate could sympathize with someone who was unable to perform at a hundred percent due to a disability or illness, but he had advice to offer Milton instead of actual written words of sympathy.

 _Practice? Try substituting better memories when close to needles instead to replace bad memories?_

"You mean tricking my brain into thinking that pleasant experiences come from getting needles poked into me instead of associating them with childhood trauma?" asked Milton skeptically. "I don't think that's going to work. Twelve years of trauma can't be replaced by twenty minutes of positive experiences, and I wouldn't exactly call this interaction right now a positive experience, no offense meant."

Tate wrote, _Stop talking needles; talk about happy things. Plans for lab equip., plans for Woodbury, happy memories, friends, good things._

Talk about happy things. What exactly had been happy experiences for Milton?

Happiness stemmed from emotional stability and Milton had never had that. He could smile, he could laugh, but he couldn't convince himself that he'd ever been _happy_ when he'd found nothing to be happy about. Unencumbered might be the better word.

Tate tapped his whiteboard again and on the pretense of answering, Milton caught a look of himself in the mirror behind Dr. Stephens. He saw the gaping wound in his neck and the black stitches standing out like oil in a sea of red. A nauseous feeling crept up in his stomach and then he felt himself keeling over…

 _"Now, Milton, we've been through this a thousand times already; if you can't behave when you're in the chair, they're going to strap you down," said Milton's father._

 _"We've only been over this fifty-three times, twice for every time I've been put in that chair, which makes twenty-six times, plus right now. I don't like needles and I don't like the nurses trying to jab them into me and scratching me," said Milton as he eyed the chair at the center of the room with two sets of buckles that would ensure that he couldn't move once he started to thrash about._

 _"They only scratch you because you don't sit still. There's nothing to be afraid about, especially if you've done this so many times before. You know what's coming, so just accept it."_

 _"Richard, constant exposure to pain doesn't make it easier to process," said Milton's mother._

 _"I'm not afraid of needles," said Milton. "I just don't like them. They're the cause of the pain and the pain's what I'm afraid of because I never know if it's going to stop."_

 _"You're being childish," Milton's father reprimanded. "The reason we keep bringing you back here is so that the pain_ will _stop. Without all of these treatments, you'd be bedridden or dead by now. The needles are helping to keep you alive, and you should be grateful for that. Any pain you feel while you're hooked up to those is temporary and it'll help you in the long run. You need to suck it up and deal with it."_

 _"Doctor Guirig said that you needed to be supportive and that's not a very supportive thing to say," said Milton._

 _"Milton, you've been coming here two times a year since you were four; I don't need to be supportive in telling you that you'd better sit your ass down in that chair and be still or—"_

 _"Richard, don't threaten him," said Milton's mother._

 _Milton knew that she was trying to protect him, but the way she went about it was all wrong. For thirteen years Milton's mother had tried to connect to him by pampering him and showing him the easy way out, but Milton didn't take kindly to that technique. He didn't want an easy way out; he wanted logical explanations and reassurance from both of his parents that his life was worth spending all of these medical expenses on. But he knew his father had become resentful of the son he had in place of the son he'd wanted. Milton's father had wanted a son who would attend an Ivy League School and become a doctor or lawyer. What he got instead was Milton: a sickly, autistic, shy, distant, but nevertheless brilliant boy. Milton had aspirations to attend a high-ranking college and he was already the top of his class, but his interests lay in chemistry, astronomy, and biology, not human anatomy. The very sight of blood made Milton queasy and the thought of spending countless hours in a courtroom bored him._

 _He was everything his father didn't want. He was the biggest disappointment of the 1970s and he knew it. He also knew that his father's patience for his less-than-perfect son was dwindling and that no matter how much his mother vouched for him, his father wouldn't agree to pay for his medical needs much longer._

 _Milton's father stormed off to the waiting room and Milton's mother tapped Milton's shoulder to ask permission for her to touch him. Milton allowed her to straighten his hospital gown because she found comfort in organizing things, something he could relate to. She looked capable of crying at the moment, but Milton hoped she wouldn't because he couldn't see how it would help her, him, or the situation._

" _You're improving," she told him as she brushed the wrinkles out of his gown._

" _I know," said Milton. The doctors had been telling him that his allergic reaction to several of the severe allergens was leveling out as he became immune to the effects. His body had also been starting to fight off diseases at an accelerated rate, but not fast enough to please his father. Meanwhile, the therapy sessions designed to help his parents connect to him had not been going as well since Milton felt as disconnected from them as ever._

" _Milton, we're ready for you now," said Dana, one of the most frequent nurses and one of the nurses Milton absolutely loathed because of her sadistic nature in pinning Milton to the chair while two other nurses strapped him down._

" _I'll be right here for you when you're done," said Milton's mother with a false cheery smile._

" _Thanks, Mom."_

 _Milton could tell that she wanted to hug him, but he wouldn't let her because he refused to give Dana a further opportunity to exploit his weaknesses. He went to the chair, sat down, and began reciting times tables in his head, starting with the number 3._

 _Dana wheeled out the movable tray that held the allergen injections._

Three multiplied by one is three. Three multiplied by two is six…

 _Another nurse checked his pulse and then fastened a device to his finger that would continue to monitor it._

Three multiplied by three is nine. Three multiplied by four—

 _Dana flicked the end of a syringe and a few droplets flew out._

Three multiplied by four is…twelve. Three multiplied by five is sixteen—no, fifteen—

 _Dana put the syringe to Milton's arm and all sense of reason abandoned him. He knew the sting that would come from the needle going into his skin. The initial confusing sensation as his body tried to register whether this pain was a threat to him or a temporary thing, then the lingering pain as the needle went deeper into his body, then panic. His father told him he should be used to it by now, but he only knew exactly what would happen in the exact order that it would happen, which did nothing to comfort him because it was like seeing the inevitable close in on you and having no way to escape it, even though you'd foreseen it._

 _Milton tried to twist away from Dana and the needle dragged across his arm, making a fine line of dotted cuts like bloody Morse code. Dana shook her head, set the needle back down on the tray, and pinned Milton in place with her arm as she grabbed his right wrist to keep him from striking out at her._

" _Secure him," she told the other nurses who moved in to strap Milton down as he called for a halt in the process and tried to throw Dana off of him. For the first time in his memory, he called for his mother, turning his head toward the window where he expected to see her pressed up against the glass as her baby boy thrashed around. And she was there, but her eyes were vacant, her face drained of all color. She clutched flowers in both hands at her chest. She was plastered to the window, clearly dead._

 _Beside her, Milton saw his father, dressed in a black suit with his arms crossed at the same spot on his chest. He too was waxen, hollow, dead._

 _Milton cried for the nurses to explain to him what was going on, to free him so that he could go to his parents, but the nurses were gone. In their places were the mottled, decaying corpses of biters with their slackened jaws gaping at Milton as they moved in. Milton screamed as a biter seized his hair and bit down into his neck._

"He's coming out of it now…"

Milton swatted out at the hands that held him and tried to leap to his feet. He didn't want to be sitting; he didn't want anyone's hands on him or to be closed off in a room with no windows. He needed to see the sky, to see the face of someone he knew and trusted—but who would that be?

His legs wouldn't support him and he fell right over, nearly face-planting on the rug if not for Tate's quick actions. The mute caught him, lowered him to the floor, and then sat down cross-legged opposite him with his hands held out as if to say, _Calm down._

It was this silent gesture of a friend attempting to reason with him and not his father ordering him or Dana bullying him that made Milton take a shallow breath and bring his surroundings into focus.

"Dammit, Milton, if you've opened that wound again, I swear to God…" Dr. Stephens went to examine Milton's neck, but he recoiled from her touch as if he'd been electrocuted.

"No," he said heavily as if he'd just run a mile. "Let Tate check."

Tate leaned forward to lift Milton's bandage and peek underneath and then gave Milton the _A-okay_ gesture on his fingers.

"What happened?" asked Milton, trying to steady his breathing.

"You saw how bad your cut was and passed out," said Dr. Stephens with a shake of her head. "I'm not complaining; it helped me get through your stitches a lot quicker, but you've been out for about twenty minutes. Started screaming there toward the end."

"Was anything coherent?" asked Milton, dreading the answer.

"No, but it sounded like you were being murdered. Now listen; if those stitches open up again, you come straight back here and don't try to fix them on your own. You've got a wound that won't heal on its own, especially if you go jumping around like you just did. You've gotta take it easy, you hear me? Take a vacation from the lab; read all the books in the library or take up sketching, I don't care, just don't make any sudden movements with your neck. I don't wanna see you in here until it's time for those stitches to come out."

Tate helped Milton to his feet and wrote: _Lab or home?_ on his whiteboard.

"Neither," said Milton. "I'm going to go sit on the wall for a while."

 _Need Governor's permission._

"I'm not training and I'm not planning on going over the wall," said Milton stoutly. "I just want to sit up there. I'm feeling rather claustrophobic at the moment."

Tate pointed to himself and then Milton, which Milton understood to mean, _I'll sit with you._ Milton didn't think Tate wanted to do so because he was concerned for Milton's well-being, though. Tate had read into Milton's nightmarish screaming where Dr. Stephens had not, and Tate understood that Milton had relived something horrid just now. All the survivors of Woodbury had endured awful, vivid trauma of all sorts to have made it this far, but there were some among them, like Milton and Tate, who'd experienced these pains long before any of those survivors.


	9. Chapter 9: Assault

**ANDREA**

"Better," said Erica after Andrea removed her eye from the scope of her rifle. The walker she'd killed was closer to the back wall than Erica's had been, but at least she managed to shoot it before it crossed the danger barrier.

"Still took three bullets," said Andrea in disappointment. "It has to be one or nothing."

"Only if it's your last shot does it have to be one or nothing," said Erica. "Shit happens and sometimes you miss the first shot. You're improving, and that's the important thing. Most of the people here could use up every bullet in the magazine and still not even get close, and that's with months of practice. You've had a week, so don't be so hard on yourself."

Andrea sipped at her water canteen, swishing the muggy water around in her mouth and thinking wistfully of the chilled glass she'd been given on the day of the celebration. Ice was a luxury she'd always taken for granted. The summer was growing hotter every day and the hours spent on watch duty were nothing short of hell when they weren't night shifts. A year at the end of the world hadn't adjusted Andrea to the stenches of the dead and the sweat that lingered around people who'd let their personal hygiene go to the dogs.

"Does it smell this bad here during the winter?" asked Andrea, wafting the stench away from her nose.

"Everywhere smells bad all the time," said Erica. "You'd think you'd be able to trick your mind into thinking that being safe would help things to smell better, but it doesn't work that way. I don't remember what it's like to not wake up and smell shit and sweat. God, just smelling myself makes me want to gag."

"You have to learn to appreciate your own brand, honey," said Crowley as he climbed the ladder behind them.

Andrea hadn't spoken to Crowley besides the occasional exchange, but from what she knew of him from Merle, he was a womanizer and a sleazy bastard. He looked the part too, with the bandana tied around his head, the shirtless women tattoos on his neck, and the layer of grease in his hair. As he came closer, Andrea caught a whiff of something that had been ruminating in a toilet for a few weeks.

"As long as you don't smell like the dead, you know you're alive, and that's worth all the stench in the world."

"The dead might actually smell better than you," said Erica, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

"I keep my showers to once a month, babe, saves on resources," said Crowley with a seductive wink as he placed a hand on Erica's shoulder. "But I could shower tonight if I knew it'd be worth it."

"You literally smell like death, and it's going to make me vomit, so unless you're our relief, piss off," said Erica, shoving Crowley's hand off of her. "And if I have to tell you again to point your dick in another direction, I'll use it for biter bait."

Crowley slapped Erica across the face, grabbed her by the hair, and then brought her head down onto his knee. "Say it again, bitch!" he dared as Erica keeled over, bleeding from the nose as her eyes rolled into the back of her head.

Andrea slammed the butt of her rifle into Crowley's back and stepped protectively over Erica. "Don't you fucking touch her again."

Crowley was quick to recover and rammed into Andrea, shoving her against the wall. Andrea heard the click of his switchblade as he drew it and put it to the space between Andrea's eyes. The metal tickled her skin, then slowly began to burn from a wound Andrea hadn't yet received and hoped not to.

"I should carve you a new smile for that, but I'm gonna give you a chance to redeem yourself."

With his body and forearm pinning her in place and the knife poking her skin, Andrea didn't dare move as Crowley's other hand found the button to her pants and undid it. His hand went straight into her underwear and before she could even cry out, he had forced three fingers inside of her. Andrea gasped in pain and Crowley let his switchblade draw a drop of blood.

"If you let me fuck you 'til you bleed, then I'll let that punch fly."

Suddenly, a hand grabbed Crowley's bangs and yanked his head back. Crowley's own hand followed its owner as Crowley went flying back to hit the walltop hard on his back. Merle stood over him, livid in a way that Andrea had seen only once before from him on that rooftop in Atlanta. Crowley tried to sit up with his knife still in hand, but Merle kicked him in the groin and then dropped to his knees so that he could reach Crowley's face better as he began to pummel it in.

Merle didn't need his dominant hand, or even two hands to deliver the damage he inflicted on Crowley's face. His fist made contact with Crowley's nose until Andrea could actually hear the bone snap; his knuckles bled as he drove them into Crowley's mouth, knocking out two teeth. All the while, Merle was swearing at the top of his lungs, calling Crowley all manner of foul things that Andrea had heard before—but none of them were like the racist insults he had hurled at T-Dog and Morales. Rapist, molester, Merle called Crowley. And the fury Andrea saw in Merle's eyes was something both familiar and completely new because she had seen that protective, frustrated, incensed look before on Shane Walsh's face as he beat Ed Peletier half to death, but she had not expected to ever see it coming from Merle.

He wasn't pummeling Crowley's face into juice pulp because of a cocaine high or because he was fed up with taking advice from a racially diverse group. He had dropped both of those habits in the eleven months he spent here in Woodbury. Instead, he was beating Crowley out of anger for what the latter had done—to her. Merle was actually honest-to-God protecting her.

As Andrea saw help coming, she buttoned her pants back up and knelt down beside Erica who was still out cold. Guerrero and Fletcher were the first ones up the ladder and they seized Merle by the forearms, hauling him off of Crowley as Merle continued to thrash out. The Governor followed them up along with Martinez and Milton and looked down at Crowley whose face was rapidly swelling up and bleeding from a multitude of cuts. Milton moved around everyone to get to Andrea and examined her neck.

"Are you okay?"

Andrea didn't answer as the Governor regarded Crowley with a bored expression on his face.

"What happened?' he asked, but Merle was still fighting against Guerrero and Fletcher. The Governor fired a shot into the air and Merle stopped, breathing heavily as the town gathered beneath the wall to hear the story. "What—happened?"

It should have been Andrea to speak; she had witnessed the exchange between Erica and Crowley and had seen Crowley hit her. But Andrea was also the one who Crowley had just molested, and the thought diminished her to the size of a child.

"Stand up and tell me, Merle," the Governor invited, but Andrea saw the danger in the command. She knew that the Governor could also read between the lines and considered Merle a loose cannon. Merle had had to work exceptionally hard to earn his place here in Woodbury by controlling his temper and learning to take commands, yet he might have just thrown all of that out the window on Andrea's behalf.

Guerrero and Fletcher let Merle go and he stood up, his fist dripping blood. "The fucker had it comin' to 'im."

"What did he do?"

Merle faltered, and Andrea thought she could guess why. He couldn't even tell her outright that his own father had beaten him as a child, and that was his own right to tell. But this was Andrea, and he didn't feel comfortable telling the Governor, especially in front of the town, that Crowley had assaulted Andrea.

"Crowley punched the shit out of Erica," said Andrea, and Merle turned to look at her, hesitant. "I hit him back and he pulled a knife on me, then he assaulted me."

"Assaulted you," the Governor repeated in his Southern drawl with only the slightest bit of interest.

"Do you want evidence?" Andrea snapped. "Yes, he put his hands on me and he exploited me. Merle stepped in before he could do more."

"And y'thought that moldin' him a new face was the best way to handle this?" the Governor asked Merle.

 _We're in trouble now_.

"Dude, like Merle said, Crowley had it coming to him," said Guerrero. "Hitting women, feeling them up, not cool. Merle comes from a real traditional background and one of those rules is: don't disrespect women. A man touches your girl, you serve it to him, no questions asked. I'd have done it if I got here first."

"But neither Andrea nor Erica are his," said the Governor.

"We're not anyone's," said Andrea, fed up with this bullshit. "Women aren't items. And we don't appreciate you asking these questions like we're on trial and Crowley's the victim. The son of a bitch tried to rape me and Merle was the only one here who had the balls to do something about it."

"The behavior displayed by Crowley isn't any more acceptable now than it was before the world ended," said Milton.

"We've never hadta deal with a situation like this before either," the Governor reasoned. "Until a verdict's reached on a reasonable punishment, all parties go free."

"Who else needs to reach a verdict besides you?" asked Andrea furiously. "You've just had two witnesses tell you what happened and as soon as Erica comes to, she'll back up those claims, so what's there to debate? I'm the one who was just assaulted and I've got a right to be fucking pissed right now. I want that man who put his hands on me in a cell—"

"Well, we ain't got one've those," said the Governor patiently. "In court, he'd most likely go to prison or be made to pay a fine for what he did, but we're not equipped to handle things like they used to be handled, so we've gotta improvise. Me'n a few others make up the council for Woodbury when it comes to tougher decisions and we'll make a fair decision on this one, but until then, everyone plays nice and avoids the other party."

Andrea opened her mouth to argue again, but Milton stood on her foot and shot her a warning glance.

"Y'all go back to your chores," said the Governor to the crowd. "And somebody get Crowley to Dr. Stephens before the rest've his face caves in."

Two other men climbed up to get Crowley off the wall and carried him off. Guerrero and Fletcher enlisted the help of a few men on the street to lower Erica and transport her to the infirmary to be treated for a broken nose and then followed the Governor down the ladder to help disperse the crowd.

"Why'd you stop me from saying something?" Andrea asked Milton.

"Because you were pressing your luck. Please, don't test Phillip. I'll make sure that justice is done, but you have to trust me."

Trust him. Why was it so much harder for Andrea to put her faith in him after she'd already asked him to do the same for her? She'd managed to make him spill the information on Michonne, but why did she find it so difficult in returning the favor? She shouldn't be playing this game if she couldn't give as she had received. But the fact remained that she hardly even knew Milton and the entire town had just been informed that Andrea was a victim of attempted rape.

She should have been stronger than this, but in a world where justice wasn't something that could be served anymore, she had no other outlet. She turned her face away from Milton so that he wouldn't see the tears brimming in her eyes. Swallowing hard, she tried to clear her throat of anything that might suggest that she was emotional right now before she spoke.

"Whatever you can do, do it, Milton."

"Have I upset you? I didn't mean—"

"You can go now."

If she had hurt him, she couldn't tell, for Milton left without another word and she dared not watch him go in case he caught a glimpse of her face. Using the sweaty rim of her shirt, she dabbed at the skin under her eyes.

"He hurtcha, didn't he?"

Andrea looked over at Merle who was finally getting to his feet after being wrestled away from Crowley. His face was still flushed, but the anger had been replaced with concern as he watched her with an intensity that made her uncomfortable. As grateful as she was to him for stepping in on her behalf, she wasn't feeling at all safe around anyone of the male gender at the moment, and so she slid to the left half a foot to put some distance between them. When she moved, she thought she saw hurt register on Merle's face as his eyebrows pulled together for a fraction of a second. He didn't move back, but he didn't come forward any further either.

"I'm sorry," said Andrea. "It's just that he—"

"I know what he did," said Merle. "But didee hurtchoo?"

"A little," Andrea admitted. "But you got here before he could do much more than that."

"I toldja; I don't stand for unwanted touch. I'dda killed 'im if I hadn't been dragged off've 'im."

"That was very—chivalrous of you," said Andrea, unsure of what else to say.

"Y'go to the infirmary with Erica an' I'll finish outcher watch. I'll come getcha at eight."

"Come get me?" Andrea repeated. "Merle, I know you're feeling protective right now, but I don't need a bodyguard."

"Who said anything 'bout a bodyguard? It's Pool Night an' I'm bringin' you as my guest."

A date. Merle wanted to bring her along as his date right after Crowley had shoved his fingers up into her. Was he out of his mind?

"Now, it ain't like that," said Merle as if he'd read her mind. "I ain't askin' for nothin'. I just think it'd be a good distraction for you's all. Couple rounds've pool oughtta take your mind off things for a while."

"Pool Night."

"Ain't no big thing, not official or nothin', but some of the fellas an' me try t'find two nights a month t'play pool in the lounge. Guerrero, Elliot, Tate, an' CJ're all regulars."

"What about Milton?" Andrea inquired, contemplating whether or not a few games of pool with Merle Dixon would be enough to distract her from what had just happened.

"What about Milton?"

"If you're inviting me, I want to invite him."

"No go, Blondie. Pool Night's a time for complainin', cursin', an' not havin' t'worry 'bout the Governor overhearin' us. Whatchoo think Miltie's gonna do the second he hears somethin' he don't like?"

"He's not as loyal to the Governor as you might think. Trust me on this, okay? I think he needs some social interaction and I think it'll benefit both of us if he comes."

Merle gave an indifferent shrug. "If you can get 'im t'tag along, bring 'im. Otherwise, I'll pick ya up at eight."

/ /

The lounge had to be the oldest building in Woodbury with a low ceiling, concrete floors, and brick walls. There were mismatched chairs and benches for seating and tables that looked like they'd been pawned from every garage sale in a fifty mile radius. A bar had been set up at the far end of the lounge with a busted "OPEN" neon sign pinned up behind it. The pantry was stocked with snack food, but kept under lock and key. A long pool table sat at the center of the room, but despite what Andrea had expected given the appearance of the rest of the place, the pool table was the newest-looking item in the lounge. Merle and the others in all of their testosterone-filled stress-relieving, had actually respected the table enough to keep it in good condition.

"I don't come in here often," said Milton as he and Andrea followed Merle to the center of the room where Guerrero, Elliot, and Tate were already gathered.

"That's 'cause y'never been invited b'fore, Miltie," said Merle, choosing his pool stick.

Absent his brother to interpret for him, Tate had his whiteboard out and jotted down a quick note to Andrea which read: _Need anything, ask._ Andrea warmed to the idea of being able to confide in Tate as her friend since he seemed so genuine in his attempts to become friends with _her_. He patted the bench beside him and Andrea sat down, comforted by his beaming face.

"Rack 'em up," said Guerrero, and Elliot positioned the pool balls in the center of the table with his good arm. Andrea noticed how Elliot's bad arm didn't move in unison with the rest of his body as it lay in the sling strapped to his chest. Sometimes it looked firm and sturdy as an arm should, but other times it flopped around like Jell-O. She wondered if Merle had known that this would be a side-effect when he shot Elliot.

"The name of the game is Eight Ball. We'll go a round of teams first, then play elimination style. Andrea, Tate, and Merle on one team; I'll take Milts, which means you're up first, kiddo," said Guerrero, handing off his pool stick to Milton who approached the table nervously and started to aim with quite poor form at one of the striped balls from behind the white cue ball.

"We're solids, Milts," Guerrero added, and Milton repositioned himself to shoot at the solid balls from a different angle behind the white one.

"The teams are uneven," Andrea pointed out. "What about Elliot?"

"He ain't playin'," said Merle, nodding at Elliot's bad arm as Milton made his shot and sent the balls scattering across the table. "Move, Milts, my turn."

"Dr. Stephens said there'll be nerve damage to a degree, but nothing that'll shut down my arm down completely," said Elliot in a falsely cheery voice, though by the look on his face, Andrea could tell that he was feeling utterly devastated at the potential loss of his motor abilities.

"Are you still going to try and convince me that shooting him was worth it?" asked Milton, leaning on the far end of the pool table to stare Merle down under the solitary lamp that hung above the table.

Merle missed his shot and scuffed the green, hissing at Milton to shut him up with a quick glance at Tate.

"Who's he going to tell, Merle?" Milton demanded. "And even if he could speak, he wouldn't tell Phillip a damn thing."

"Y'don't know the full story, so don'tchoo go pointin' fingers at me for doin' what I did. I done it for a good reason."

"You can't perform a good deed worth a damn, Merle."

"And you can't play pool worth a damn, Miltie," Merle retorted as he shot one of the striped balls into a pocket. "I've got one hand and I play better than you."

"Learning pool isn't a necessary life skill."

"'Cause you're so full've life skills. Y'ever killed a biter, Miltie? Y'ever shot a gun? Learned t'build a fire or know how t'fish or figured out how t'track people? Y'know how t'switch on lab equipment and kiss the Governor's ass. Y'don't know shit."

"Dixon!"

Andrea's hand instinctively went to her front to protect it as she heard Crowley's irate voice from the other side of the room. She stood up and Tate mimicked her, frowning at Crowley who had a half-empty bottle of gin in his hand and was backed by two Woodbury soldiers who Andrea knew by face but not by name.

"Keep it cool, dude," said Guerrero as Merle shot another striped ball into the pocket and then gripped the pool stick in his hand like he was preparing to use it as a weapon.

"You picked a sorry excuse for your backups, Dixon," said Crowley as he approached the table. His stance was a little ungainly, but for the most part he seemed to be in control of his actions.

"Oh, bad," said Milton quietly, but only Andrea heard him as he took a cautious step back.

Merle glanced back at Andrea, Milton, Guerrero, Elliot, and Tate. "Hell y'talkin' about backups? And what's with Kendall and Benson here?"

"You knew I'd be coming back for some words with you and this is how you prepare yourself? No Fletcher, no Wes, no _Governor._ Guess you don't give as much of a shit about that bitch you claimed as I thought you did."

"What's this 'claimed' shit?"

"Bad, bad, bad," said Milton.

"You as good as told me that you claimed her when you pulled me off of her and did this," Crowley motioned at his face. "You made your mark on her, so own the fuck up to it. Defend her."

"I don't need him to fight my battles for me," said Andrea a lot more bravely than she felt. "You want to settle this, step closer and you won't have to worry about finding a fuck buddy."

"My dick's gonna rip your holes open before you shoot it off, bitch."

Merle whapped Crowley across the face with the stick.

As Crowley went down, Kendall moved in on Merle. Elliot tried to intervene, but Kendall punched him in his bad arm and Elliot let out a yelp, crashing into one of the benches as he clutched his wound. Benson advanced on Andrea, but Tate stepped between them with his hands held out to the much larger man as if to say, _We come in peace._ Milton took Andrea's wrist and stepping slightly in front of her, started retreating toward the back entrance to the lounge.

Crowley was back on his feet punching at Merle who was having a difficult time fending off both him and Kendall who had a firm hold on Merle's overshirt in an attempt to reel him in. Guerrero stood atop one of the rickety tables and dove headlong into the fray, knocking into Kendall so that the thug was forced to let go of Merle's shirt. Kendall picked up Guerrero by the front of his jacket and threw him halfway across the room. But no sooner had Kendall turned to the squabbling duo that was Merle and Crowley that Guerrero sprang onto him from behind, locking his arms around Kendall's neck as the latter tried to buck him off. Guerrero held onto Kendall like the bigger man was a bucking bronco, all the while tightening his hold.

Andrea slipped around Milton, ducked under Tate's arm, and dodged Benson's grasp as she ran to Merle and Crowley. She seized the back of Crowley's shirt and yanked hard so that Crowley lost his balance and fell, hitting his head on the side of the pool table. Merle pushed Andrea aside and kicked Crowley in the ribs.

Benson took Crowley's gin bottle, gripped it by the opening, and smashed it across Merle's face. Merle gave a cry of pain as the glass ripped open the skin on his cheek and Benson grabbed a fistful of Merle's hair at the top of his scalp. As Benson was preparing to open Merle a new smile and Andrea went for another pool stick, Milton fired his pistol into the air.

All movement ceased.

"Now, that's enough," said Milton firmly. "We never had a problem between citizens in Woodbury before and that's how we've survived. I'm not about to let all of that hard work go to hell because of what happened on wall duty. Now, I can gloss this over with the Governor so that no one suffers further consequences, but this won't happen again, gentlemen, I can assure you. You work together to defend Woodbury, or you leave."

Kendall helped Crowley to his feet and Crowley pointed a drunken finger at Milton. "You're damn right you'll fix this with the Governor. If I get so much as a whiff that you've squealed on me—"

"The Governor will know only what I tell him, and I know how to use my words better than anyone here," said Milton with an amount of confidence that Andrea didn't know he had. "In the meantime, I'd suggest coming up with a viable excuse as to how you sustained further injury after your beating on the wall."

Even though Milton commanded no authority with his slim, timid build, Crowley and the others heeded his advice and slumped out. The moment they'd gone, Milton's posture drooped and he sat down on the edge of one of the tables, bringing his hands up to his face to gasp into them.

"Don't ever let me do something like that again," he said to Andrea through his fingers.

"Why not?" asked Guerrero, checking his reflection in the mirror above the pantry. "It seemed to work."

"That's just it," said Milton meekly. "I don't think they'd buy it a second time."

"They won't have to," said Elliot from the floor. "Next time, we'll have better odds. Like, I don't plan on getting knocked on my ass two seconds in." He started to sit up and his bad arm flopped around in its sling. "Stupid. Useless. Piece of shit arm."

Tate helped Elliot stand as Andrea turned to Merle who'd kept his head down since Benson let go of him. Upon closer inspection, Andrea saw that the glass from the gin bottle had cut him three times, the deepest cut still having shards of broken glass in it. Merle flinched away from Andrea as she tried to pick out some of the shards with her fingers. But he had nothing to say, clenching his teeth in an attempt to block out some of the pain.

"I'll take him to the infirmary," Milton offered. "I'll have to be the one to explain it anyway, and I know some first-aid in case Dr. Stephens is already asleep."

Merle looked like he'd rather bury his face in crushed glass than allow Milton to escort him out, but Andrea wasn't letting him be a prideful asshole tonight.

"You go with him and you don't say a damn word about it."


	10. Chapter 10: Plans in the Making

**MERLE**

Dr. Stephens, as it turned out, had already turned in for the night, so Milton was left to raid her supplies in search of the tools he needed to tend to Merle's cuts. When Milton approached Merle with a needle, Merle put his hand on his pistol.

"Boy, don'tchoo step any closer with that thing. I know how you are with needles, an' I don't need you fuckin' up my face any more'n it already is. Just gimme a wad of gauze t'slap on an' I'll be good t'go."

"If you leave that exposed, it'll become infected," said Milton. "I know how to stitch up a wound, Merle, and I can take care of yours if you'd just sit still."

Merle backed up as Milton advanced with the needle held out like a weapon of mass destruction. "You hate needles, son, how'd you ever get t'be good at sewin'?"

"I don't mind the presence of needles as long as they're not being used on me," Milton explained. "Whereas it's different with blood. I can stomach my own blood, but the gorier it gets with other people, the queasier I become. Your cut is just deep, so I can manage it and I _will_ manage it. Sit down and let me—"

Merle made a dash for the door, but then Milton called him off with a threat.

"If you don't come back here, I'll tell the Governor what happened in the lounge and then you and Crowley will be sharing jail time."

Never one to back down from a direct threat, Merle marched back in and came within half a foot of Milton's face. He expected Milton to have backed down in his cowardice, but Milton stood his ground, though with a shallow gulp.

"Say what now? Lemme hear ya say it again, Miltie, and we'll see what happens."

"I am well-versed in medical emergencies such as these and am perfectly capable of controlling my fear of needles to patch someone else up. You need to trust that I can do this and not be so prideful as to refuse help. By stitching you up, I can provide a reason as to why you needed me to help you in the first place. I'll tell the Governor that you broke something in the lab and it cut you, and since I was there with you, I took it upon myself to see to your wound. There's a ready-made alibi for you, which I know you hadn't yet thought of."

Merle wanted to argue, but in truth, Milton was right; he _hadn't_ thought of an alibi for this cut on his cheek yet, and if the Governor found out that he'd been in a brawl with Crowley again, well, Merle was rather attached to the concept of living, and he wasn't exactly eager to give up on that. He sat down in one of the visiting chairs and Milton switched on a lamp beside him to see his cheek better.

Milton set to work on sewing up the cut and Merle only flinched when the needle would poke through his skin. He could see the concentration on Milton's face that was normally only apparent when Milton was going over his notes or performing an experiment. It was interesting to see how absorbed Milton could be in his work because it brought forth an entirely new expression to his face to replace the look of cowardice that occupied it ninety percent of the time. In addition to this look of attentiveness, Merle had also seen one of furious focus when he fired the shot into the air in the lounge. That was a side of Milton he'd never seen before, not even when out hunting for Michonne. If Milton displayed more of that bit of his personality, Merle probably wouldn't find the need to give him hell for having made it this far. Probably.

"Y'know, that's a nice alibi y'thought up for me, but what about Crowley?" asked Merle when Milton stopped to adjust the light.

"His face already looked like shit before he came into the lounge," said Milton, turning Merle's face slightly to pick out the next spot to stick the needle.

"He ain't gonna stop comin' at me every chance he gets," said Merle. "I done everythin' but kill 'im for everyone t'see, an' he's got my number. One've us's goin' down."

"It won't be you," Milton assured him. "There are witnesses to what happened on the wall and Crowley will be punished for them. He'll be quarantined or cut off from the rest of the town with limited rations—I'll make sure of that. Besides, the Governor values you more. If it comes to it, Crowley will be turned out of Woodbury."

"Think that's gonna keep 'im out? He's after my blood now, Miltie, an' by stickin' your neck out back there, y'just painted a red 'x' across your back."

"I wasn't helping you out in there. You're perfectly capable of getting yourself out of situations like that, especially if you're the one who got yourself into them in the first place."

"So that was all for Andrea, huh? She's grown on ya, hasn't she, Miltie? Startin' t'have impure thoughts about her?"

Milton stopped sewing to glare at Merle.

"You're despicable, you know that?"

"So that's a yes, then? I don't blame ya, Miltie, she's got that effect on people."

"Whether or not I am attracted to someone is none of your concern, and I'd appreciate it if you dropped the subject altogether because we've had this conversation before and I was no more eager to talk about it then than I am now. Consider it closed."

"I'm not sayin' it's a bad thing, Miltie. If she can getcha t'actually contribute some much-needed balls 'round here, I ain't stoppin' either've ya. In fact," Merle stood up to examine his cheek in the mirror as Milton finished off, "I'm inductin' you into Woodbury's army."

Milton looked terrified of the very idea. "Only the Governor can—"

"He will. God knows we need better specimen that the shit stains we've currently got guardin' the wall. An' the Governor don't care if whatcha do's dangerous, does he, Miltie? Sentcha out as Michonne bait, didn't he?"

Milton dropped his gaze as he responded with, "We've discussed that privately and put it behind us. My efforts go toward helping to find a cure."

"Ain't gonna happen, Miltie. The dead're dead an' they stay that way an' no cure's gonna be found in a second-rate makeshift lab. Y'wanna contribute, you're gonna start carryin' a gun."

/ /

"The hell happened to your face?" asked Martinez the next morning as Merle climbed the ramp to join him and five others on gate duty.

"Shit," said Merle dully.

"It's obvious it looks like shit, but how did said shit happen?" asked Benson and Merle shot a warning look at him to not put Merle's patience to the test this early in the morning. Benson knew damn well what had happened to Merle's face—he'd been the one to do it too—but Merle couldn't very well tell the rest of the guards that. Resigned to the fact that he had to use Milton's suggested alibi, Merle briefly explained how he'd accidentally knocked over some lab equipment and caused a vial of something flammable to explode so that the beaker cut him across the face as it shattered.

"I thought you weren't allowed in the lab on your own," laughed one of the other guards.

"Yeah, well you're not allowed within ten feet of it, so shove it up your ass," said Guerrero, joining Merle on the wall. He had something that looked suspiciously like powder on his lower jaw and Merle suspected that Erica had helped him cover the bruise he sustained during the scuffle last night so that he too wouldn't need an alibi.

"Dixon's always full've surprises, though, isn't he?" Kendall pointed out, egging Merle on. "Exploding lab equipment, beating the hell outta Crowley, refusing the company of the good ladies of Woodbury."

"I heard he even turned Becky down," said Martinez. "Hell, Merle, we've all had Becky at some point; what stopped you from nose-diving down her pants? Couldn't get it up?"

"Naw, he's got a hard-on for the blonde one," said Kendall. "I don't blame 'im neither. She's a fine piece've ass. I'd bang her hard."

The other soldiers began to try and outdo one another by listing the sexual things they would do if they had Andrea to warm their beds. Merle had partaken in this sort of banter before regarding other bachelorettes of Woodbury, but this time, he didn't find it remotely amusing. Maybe it was because he knew Andrea to some extent and knew that she'd never be so submissive as to allow the men to handle her in such a way and the thought of her being belittled to a plaything when she had built up such a strong presence was actually quite infuriating to Merle.

He was actually considering using Benson as a punching bag to further let out last night's frustrations when he felt something digging into his ribs and turned to see Guerrero pressing the nozzle of his rifle into Merle's side.

"What?" asked Merle.

"You look like you're about to commit murder, dude. Get outta here; go pick up Michonne's trail and follow it out as far as you want, but don't come back 'til you're cooled down."

"I thought y'all ran her outta Georgia for good?"

"We thought so too, but Benson said it looked like she might've doubled back. In any case, we don't get to forget about it until the trail goes cold. But I'm more concerned about getting you off the wall and outta Woodbury for a few hours. Go on, dude, I'll cover your shifts."

Merle started to go, still hearing the guards debate on whether or not Andrea was into multiple partners at once, and he started to double back, but Guerrero blocked his way.

"You pull another Crowley and the Governor's gonna feed your ass to the biters, dude. They're not worth it, alright? It doesn't matter what they say about your girl; they can't put their hands on her."

"She ain't my girl," said Merle quickly.

"Well, they don't know that, so keep up the ruse. Hell, dude, they still sexualize Erica when she's not around to hear it, and I've been with her for eight months now, but I don't go picking a fight every time one of them starts talking about fucking her to make his dick seem bigger. You just gotta learn to walk things off, so go walk it off. If you don't look for Michonne, keep an eye out for CJ's group because they should've been back yesterday."

Merle heard Benson mention something about bedposts and chains and Guerrero shoved him the rest of the way down the ramp. "Go. Now."

/ /

Merle didn't see why Guerrero cared if Merle decided to go on a rampage atop the wall toward everyone who'd talked about banging Andrea. Guerrero wasn't phased by anything; it was easy for him to tell someone else to walk away, but the fact that he'd actively prevented Merle from losing control was quite interesting. It wasn't often that the men of Woodbury's army showed any compassion for other people at all since the Governor had a habit of choosing men who had little to no emotional ties to anyone else, only that hadn't worked out so well since Guerrero and Erica had indeed been together for quite a while and then there was Tate and Wes to consider…

But then again, if the soldiers had any emotional ties, they were to other soldiers and not civilians, which was why Guerrero, Erica, and the twins managed to stay on as soldiers. If Merle ever found Daryl as he hoped to, Daryl would become part of the army, but that was only if they chose to stay in Woodbury rather than try to make it on their own like Merle had intended from the start. He didn't want Woodbury to see him as he really was, and that side to him would certainly come out once he was reunited with his brother. After all, this was all for Daryl, or until he found Daryl, wasn't it? Befriending Andrea, looking out for the best interest of Woodbury's citizens, putting Crowley in his place, asserting his place as the beta of the town only beside the Governor (for the time being)? It was all just for show until he found Daryl, wasn't it?

Merle turned off the road to enter the gas station Guerrero and the twins had set off the alarm to, figuring he'd scan the place over for any supplies he might have missed on previous runs. The door was ajar, so he brought out his pistol and leveled it on his metal shell, preparing to take out the odd biter that might have wandered in. As he moved toward the counter, he heard a rustling from the other side and knelt down to listen for a moment.

The sound didn't seem to be uncoordinated, but deliberate, which suggested that whatever was on the other side of the counter wasn't dead. He poked his head over the counter and came face to face with the tip of a sword point.

"Well, ain't that a bitch," said Merle, watching the sword's owner rise with him as she pointed the tip of her katana at him. "And here I was hopin' you'd gone for good so we wouldn't haveta huntchoo no more."

"You admit you're still hunting me, then," said Michonne stonily.

"If by huntin', y'mean steerin' ya outta the state, then yeah. Y'weren't worth the trouble then, an' y'ain't worth it now, so fuck it. I ain't fightin' t'day, sweetheart; too damn tired an' distracted."

"I see someone cut you good," Michonne observed. "I hope it hurts like hell."

"I got it protectin' your girl," said Merle, relishing the look of surprise on Michonne's face at this statement. "Oh, yeah, we're gettin' along just fine." He flicked out his tongue and licked his lips seductively at her because he knew it would infuriate her in not knowing if Merle was telling the truth or not.

"You stay away from her or—"

"Look, hot stuff, whatever me'n Andrea done together ain't none've your business, huh? You're the one who left her an' she's adjusted real well. Protected the town when a biter horde came through an' she's makin' new friends, but she got herself a position up on the wall snipin' biters an' one've the guards took advantage of that. I put myself out there for her, an' she appreciates that, but she ain't stupid, so she knows when t'keep quiet an' play nice, unlike you. Y'couldn't keep that scowl off your face."

"Because I know what's going on behind the scenes like how you murdered those soldiers and how the Governor's a sick, twisted son of a bitch," said Michonne. "And you who follow him are just as bad."

"Define 'bad'," said Merle.

"You," Michonne responded.

"Well, fuck it," said Merle, and he put his pistol down on the counter. "I ain't here t'convince you've nothin', honey. I'm just out doin' my rounds, lettin' off steam, an' lookin' for m'brother, so unless you can help me with any've them, we'd best be on our ways now. Take that there pistol, you'll need it."

"I don't do well with guns," said Michonne, eyeing the weapon suspiciously. "And the second I reach for it, you'll pop off a bullet in my head from the second one you've got stored in the back of your belt."

"Naw, you're thinkin' of Guerrero, honey. Ol' Merle's only got the one. Lemme show ya, easy now, alright?" Merle lifted his overshirt and then put his hand and metal shell atop his head, revolving on the spot so Michonne could see that he'd only come with the one pistol. When he turned back around, Michonne had lowered his sword slightly.

"Why're you toning down your level of asshole-ness now?" she asked.

"Like I said, me'n Andrea get along just fine, an' she thinks you're alright, so y'ain't no bother t'me s'long as the Governor don't know we had this conversation, which means y'better skidaddle. But if we cross paths again an' I'm with other people, I'mma look out for my own ass—y'know what that means."

"Why not just kill me now so you don't have to worry about the possibility of coming across me later?"

"'Cause there ain't no reason t'kill ya now. Ain't no gain in it and you'd be a waste've a bullet. An' honest t'God, I'm so sick've killin' people just 'cause the Governor gives the word."

Merle picked his pistol up, stored it in his belt, and started for the door.

"There's a faded green car in front of Woodbury," said Michonne. "Starting tomorrow, look in the glove compartment every five days for a message from me. There won't be any information that you or the Governor would be able to decipher, but it'll be for Andrea if you find something there. It won't hurt her if she never gets it, but if you're feeling more like you are now and less like a dick, give Andrea that message."

Merle said nothing, walking through the doorway and back out into the sunlight. He followed the road back to Woodbury, wondering if he might have just signed his own death warrant in allowing Michonne to go free. If the Governor ever found out that Merle had not only seen her, but been close enough to kill her and didn't, Merle's head would be on a spike at the front of the gate.

 _You dumb fuck_ , he thought to himself. Of all days, today had to be the one in which he'd chosen to feel merciful after going eleven months without having an inkling of the stuff for anyone outside of Woodbury and not that much for the people _inside_ Woodbury either. Now was not the time to be feeling—

He heard shouts coming from up the road and broke into a jog, rounding the corner just in time to see a gaggle of biters fall upon two men just outside the gate.


	11. Chapter 11: Part of Something Bigger

**MILTON**

He had been examining the stitches in his neck when he heard the screams from beyond the wall. Milton ran up the ramp, snatching up a pistol from the weapons rack as he went, and at the top, he noticed that no one was on duty. It was only three-o-nine, which meant that there should not yet be a switch-out. Why the wall was left unattended, Milton didn't know, but he knew he had to take up the duties of whoever was supposed to be there.

The screaming he had heard was coming from directly below and he leaned out over the edge of the wall to see at least twelve biters grappling with two men and not just two random men, but members of the latest scavenging party whose delayed return had been noted. CJ and Lance had been part of that four-man team, but they were the only two who had made it back—and were about to be eaten alive. Lance had managed to keep the biters back by ramming his rifle into their faces, but as soon as he put one down, another would get back up. CJ was bleeding from what looked like a bite mark to his ankle and trying to keep the biter from finishing off the rest of him.

Milton pointed his pistol at the biter on CJ, but the haze of the sweltering heat made it difficult to make out his target. His grip was unsteady on his weapon and he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He fired and hit the biter—only his inexperienced shot went straight through the biter's decomposing skull and struck CJ in the calf.

CJ screamed and Milton looked down at what he'd done in horror. His first instinct was to apologize, but he realized that now was not the time. He turned his aim to a biter further away from the men and shot twice, missing both times. Blinking sweat out of his eyes, he fired a third time and was rewarded with the biter dropping lifelessly to its knees. Caught up in his premature celebration and pleasant surprise that he'd hit his target, he was unprepared for what came next.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing on the wall?"

Taken by surprise, Milton fumbled with his pistol and as he tried to maintain his grip on it, he overstepped and felt himself free falling. He saw the ground below rise up to meet him and landed hard on his back. The pain traveled from his tailbone up to the base of his spine, making him dizzy and temporarily blind to his surroundings as the shockwave registered in his brain. As he went to sit up, he saw the mottled face of a biter closing in on him and heard himself cry out before it was on him. Milton put one hand to the biter's throat to hold back its chomping teeth while trying to keep its fingernails from scratching him.

He reached sideways for something—anything—that might help him and his fingers found something warm and metallic. There couldn't be hesitation this time; he brought the pistol up to the biter's mouth, stuck it between the two rows of rotted, blood-stained teeth, and fired. Rotting flesh and old blood rained down on him and he clasped his mouth shut as flecks of blood sprinkled onto his glasses. He tried to push the biter off of him and saw another descending on him.

The biter didn't make it to him as a bullet took out its eye and as Milton went to wipe his glasses free of grime, he felt someone lugging him to his feet by the front of his shirt.

"Shoot, dammit!" Merle shouted at him as he pushed his way toward CJ and Lance.

Milton fired at the back of a biter's head, but his bullet just chipped off a bit of the skull and only alerted the biter to his presence. Backed into the wall, Milton panicked and let off four rounds into the biter's face. He saw Merle sweeping through the remaining biters, punching some in the head with his blade while simultaneously firing his pistol. It was then that Milton heard CJ's screams rent the air. A biter tore into CJ's face, ripping off half of his cheek in one bite so that CJ's teeth and gums were exposed. Before the biter could take any more of CJ with it, Merle shoved the biter face-first into the gate and its skull caved in on itself.

The gate opened moments later and a handful of guards including Guerrero, Elliot, and Tate accompanied Phillip out to assist in taking out the biters, but Merle and Lance had finished off the rest of them. Phillip saw Milton standing off to the side with his pistol held loosely in his hand and went to him. He put a hand on Milton's shoulder and used the other to make Milton look him in the eye.

"Milton, lookit me. Are you okay?" Phillip's voice seemed to be coming through a blocked-off funnel.

"What?" Milton heard himself say.

"Are—you—okay?"

Milton attempted to say "yes", but instead of words, he felt something else coming up his throat and turned his head away from Phillip to vomit into the grass. The bile clung to the inside of his mouth and the stench only amplified the assault on his senses so that with another heave, he emptied the contents of his stomach.

"Get him inside," Phillip told one of the guards and Tate came to escort Milton back inside the gate, but Milton waved him off.

"I'm okay," he murmured.

"What happened?" Phillip asked.

"Hell'f I know," said Merle. "I was out on my rounds. Got back an' this shit was goin' down. Weren't nobody on the wall 'cept Miltie an' he done fell off. Killed a biter or two, but he wasn't much use after he fell."

"They came out of nowhere," panted Lance who was covered in the blood of his kills. "We were coming up on the gate and they swarmed us. We saw someone on the gate, but then they disappeared and we couldn't hold them off."

Phillip knelt down beside CJ who was convulsing on the ground, bitten in several places. He took CJ's hand and without looking up, posed a question to Lance.

"What happened to Ollie and Ray?"

Lance tried to speak, but the sight of CJ silenced him.

"Should we take him inside or finish it out here?" asked Guerrero.

Phillip kept his eyes on CJ and said, "Merle," while commanding CJ's attention. CJ's gaze never left Phillip as Merle took a knee on his other side and stuck his blade into CJ's temple. All at once, the shaking throughout CJ's body ceased and Phillip laid CJ's hand back down.

Milton pushed Tate out of the way and hurled again, splattering some of the gate in his puke.

"Merle, you'n Guerrero go tell Janine, Wade, and the kids about this and I'll get someone t'clean him up before we bury him," Phillip told Merle. "Lance, let's get you cleaned off and then you can make your report."

They all began to move into the town when Guerrero pulled the procession to a halt. "A report might have to wait, dude. Look there…" He pointed to the back of Lance's neck and Milton saw blood creeping up from under Lance's collar. Phillip pulled the collar down out of the way to expose a bite mark across Lance's neck.

With a trembling hand, Lance reached back to feel the broken skin and turned to Phillip pleadingly. "Can I at least say goodbye to my family first?"

Phillip nodded and put his arm around Lance to guide him in. Milton went to follow, but Merle made a beckoning gesture with his forefinger and Milton's heart sank. Merle wanted Milton to accompany him to Janine's apartment to tell her that her brother was dead not because Milton had been there to see the biters swarm him, but because Milton was better than Merle or Guerrero with words when it came to this sort of thing. And that wasn't a comforting notion at all because Milton was the primary bad-news-bearer only because he could deliver the news in a flat, emotionless manner and it was believed that having someone with no expression deliver bad news would soften the blow. As if.

Milton trudged up the stairs to Janine and Wade's apartment, clutching the banister for support in case he felt the need to vomit again. Merle knocked and Janine's boyfriend Wade let them in. The apartment interior was well-kept and rather bare which was odd, considering the fact that two highly active children lived there, but the twins were sitting on the couch as if they'd just been scolded.

"What's up?" asked Wade once Milton, Merle, and Guerrero were inside. "And why're you covered in blood?"

"Where's Janine?" asked Merle, regarding Wade with disgust for some reason.

"She's got a headache; she's laying down."

"Oh, I bet she is," said Merle. "She needs to hear this."

"I'll tell her—"

"No, y'won't."

"Hey, who the hell do you think you are, buddy? Coming into _my_ house and making demands—"

"It's not your house, dude," Guerrero corrected. "It's CJ's and Janine's. And this is a matter that involves her more than you. Kids, go get your mom."

"Sit your asses back down," Wade snapped at Nathan and Nina who had begun to move toward their mom's room.

"Hey, don'tchoo talk t'them like they's your kids," said Merle. "Kids, go getcher mom, nevermind what this asshole says. Go on."

Wade looked like he wanted to punch Merle, but with Guerrero also there, he was outnumbered. Milton watched the mounting tension between the three of them, wondering what in the world was happening or had happened that he was unaware of, but before he could give the matter too much thought, Janine appeared with her jacket wrapped tightly around her. She stood in the doorway to her bedroom so that half of her face was hidden in shadow.

"Janine, we got some bad news," said Merle, glaring at her pointedly as if he was trying to send her a message.

Guerrero shot Merle a tactless look that clearly said, _Dude, you suck at this_.

Taking that as his cue to intervene and speak his part, Milton stepped up. "Janine, you might want to have a seat." He didn't have to say anything else because everyone in Woodbury knew that the news that followed those words meant that one of their loved ones was dead. And for the first time, Milton could sympathize with the receiver of this news because he had seen their loved one die, could have prevented it, maybe even caused it.

/ /

Merle went off to clean up after they left Janine in a fit of distraught sobs and Guerrero took the twins to his and Erica's shared apartment to spare them their mother's meltdown, leaving Milton to his own devices. Feeling unclean in the worst way possible, Milton returned to his own residence and after peeling off his blood-soaked clothes, he climbed into his shower, drew the curtain, turned the faucet on to the highest pressure, and sat down on the tub floor so that the blood could wash off of him. He used a washcloth to scrub at his face and hair, desperate to rid himself of the feeling of blood. The pre-set timer that he had fixed to warn him of when his three minute shower was nearly over went off and he ran his fingers through his hair to ensure that he'd washed everything out before turning off the showerhead.

As he allowed the humid air to naturally dry his hair, he started to dress in a fresh set of clothes and replayed the events at the wall in his head. Lance and CJ might have been saved if there had been a wall guard there, but there wasn't. Milton could find out who was supposed to have been there, but what good would come of scolding the culprits? This wasn't a lesson that could be taught by saying that "it better not happen next time" because Woodbury couldn't afford a next time. Two lives depended upon the disciplined duty of the wall guard and Woodbury's greatest defense had failed them, leaving those lives in Milton's unprepared hands. No one could say that he hadn't tried to help, but he didn't know the first thing about accuracy when shooting a gun and it was only by an insane amount of luck that he'd succeeded in hitting three different targets after wasting a handful of bullets in the first place. Then, the fact that he'd fallen off the wall after someone shouted at him so that Merle had to come to _his_ aid instead of Lance and CJ's meant that both of them might have survived if Milton had just stayed off the wall.

Milton was cleaning the soap out of his ears when he heard a knock on the door and hastily pulled his socks on and combed back his hair to at least be partially presentable as he went to answer and saw Phillip standing on the threshold.

"How you holding up?" asked Phillip, inviting himself into Milton's room.

"I'm fine," said Milton. "Really, I'm perfectly alright. I'm not the one who was injured—or bitten, for that matter."

"No, but you got your first taste've battle in rushin' t'help Lance and CJ when there was no one on duty and for that, I'm proud've you. You showed a level've courage that I didn't know you had and you helped Lance hold out long enough to survive the initial attack and say goodbye to his family, and that's invaluable."

Milton shrugged. "I can't decide if the fault lies with me for not being a better shot or with the people who were supposed to be on the wall."

"You can't be blamed for savin' someone. You were there; the wall guard wasn't. Don't beat yourself up for doin' the right thing," said Phillip sternly. "But I do agree that you could learn how t'shoot better; Merle mentioned makin' you part've Woodbury's army."

"We both know that's an idea destined for disaster—"

"No, he's got a point. I'm not talkin' about sendin' you on runs or makin' you do the heavy liftin', but I do think it's time you learned how t'handle weapons properly. When there's women who can shoot better than you, that's just embarrassin'."

"No, it's not," said Milton, unabashed by this proclamation. "Erica and Andrea have the skills necessary to help them succeed in combat and it has nothing to do with them being women. Some people just aren't equipped for violence and I don't mind being one of those people."

Phillip laughed. "Try all you want, you're not gettin' outta this one so easily. You were still afraid of your own shadow when I met you four years ago, Milton, and look how far you've come. I couldn't get you to be in the same room as a needle this time last year, but you stepped up and insisted that Dr. Stephens teach you some first aid. Maybe you are afraid've nearly everythin' outside these walls, but you're also determined and you deserve more credit than you give yourself. I value that, and I want you t'be around a long time so I can keep valuin' that. That means you're gonna join Woodbury's army."

"But—"

"You wanna help Woodbury, don't you?"

"Yes, but in a way that would be more beneficial than just learning to shoot at the speed of light like Merle and Guerrero. This town needs more than sharpshooters; it needs a voice of reason and I am that voice. I'm committed to doing the right thing for the people, which means handling less pleasant issues like Crowley's alleged molestation of Andrea. You and I both know that he assaulted her and we shouldn't even be debating its legitimacy with Erica walking around with a broken nose. Crowley attacked both of them in an unprovoked manner and apocalypse or not, his behavior isn't tolerated by any civilization. That was one of the first rules you set for the people when we built the town: any form of rape or abuse would be met with severe punishment. Three witnesses, two of them victims, can attest to Crowley's actions, and he deserves to be locked up for what he did."

"But what Merle did in response isn't justified either."

Milton had a nearly unlimited amount of patience, but when it came to abuse, he wasn't even going to entertain the notion of leniency. He didn't care if Merle beat Crowley half to death; Merle could have killed Crowley and Milton wouldn't have cared. The fact that Crowley had put his hands on two women and was still being allowed to walk around freely was not only wrong; it was infuriating.

"Crowley _will_ be locked up," Milton told Phillip firmly. "The town isn't going to suffer from having an abusive, ill-tempered man like that put away for an indefinite amount of time."

Phillip raised an eyebrow at Milton and Milton wondered if perhaps, he had stepped over the line in questioning Phillip's authority.

"You've taken this situation to heart, haven't you?"

"I believe in justice and I think that justice in this sense means letting Merle off with a warning that that sort of behavior won't be tolerated and confining Crowley on restricted rations just like an inmate in a prison facility would be."

"We don't have a prison, Milton."

"Then we improvise or we turn Crowley out of Woodbury. Any other man who committed those types of acts would be given a number of years behind bars, and if you aren't prepared to keep him locked up for years then we shouldn't waste any resources on him. Make him leave."

A scraggly voice came from Phillip's radio and he answered it. "Go for the Governor," he said.

" _Lance is ready_ ," came the voice of Fletcher.

"I'll be right there. We'll have to continue this conversation later, Milton."

"That's what you said yesterday. This needs to be addressed now. How can we claim to be part of a society trying to keep its grip on humanity if we let rapists roam the streets unpunished? Phillip, I know Crowley's one of your best fighters, but the man's a menace and I don't want him anywhere near other people."

Milton saw the flash of anger he'd seen before when he accused Phillip of using him to get to Michonne, but in an instant, it was gone, only to be replaced by a devilish grin that didn't make Milton feel any better at all.

"You've been talkin' with Andrea, haven't you?"

"I—no, not really," said Milton, caught off guard. "Nothing beyond the occasional hello."

"You're hooked on her, aren't you, Milton? Finally found a woman who you think's in your league, huh?"

"No, of course not—"

"Crowley'll be confined by mornin'," Phillip promised. "And you'll start your first shift with Merle tonight."

Feeling that Milton's refusal to join the army was not up for debate, especially not as a deal breaker to get Crowley put away, Milton was about to say so, but Phillip shut the door on him.


	12. Chapter 12: The Unpredictables

**ANDREA**

It was incredible that in a town where everyone knew everyone and everyone knew _where_ everyone was ninety percent of the time, she couldn't find any of the people who might be able to explain what had happened at the wall. She asked around for Merle, Milton, Tate, Guerrero, and Erica, but no one could tell her where any of them were. Deciding that she would start checking their individual rooms, she was halfway through the doorway into Milton's apartment complex when she collided with the Governor.

"Careful," he told her as he grabbed her shoulders to keep her from falling over. "Where you goin' in such a hurry?"

"I'm looking for someone to tell me what happened at the wall. I was helping Mr. Sandino reorganize one of the pantry shelves and heard gunshots, but by the time I could get away, there was nothing left to see. What happened?"

The Governor watched her carefully for a few moments and Andrea was uncomfortably aware of his eyes raking the front of her shirt. He motioned for her to follow him up the street and into the back alley between the overgrown wall of foliage and the lab. Though her excitement was building now that she was finally being given access to what Merle had called the "Inner Circle Quarters", she couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding at what was about to happen.

In the lab, Merle, Guerrero, Wes, Tate, and Fletcher (who she'd only just recently been introduced to) were gathered around an armchair where another man sat looking like he was about to puke up his intestines. His face had gone the decaying grey color of a freshly-dead corpse and for a moment, Andrea thought he actually was dead, but then she saw his chest rise and fall as he coughed up blood. Then, he erupted into a fit of coughing so that his body convulsed and the soldiers standing around him all went for their weapons instead of stepping in closer to see if the man was okay.

The man held up a hand to signify that he would be alright and then slumped back into the armchair, closing his eyes in pain. The Governor bent over and put his hand on the man's head.

"Hey, Lance," he said kindly. "I guess it's nearly time, huh?"

"Nearly," said Lance with a brave attempt at a smile.

"We'll make sure your family's taken care of," the Governor promised. "You gave your life workin' for us; we'll give our lives to protect your family."

"CJ's family…"

"Them as well. We're all family here, Lance. We never leave the families've the fallen out in the cold."

The lab door opened and Milton ambled in, hurrying over to the group gathered around Lance. His hair was damp, but he had still attempted to style it like he normally did.

"I thought you were done for the day," said the Governor.

"It's my duty to record this for the town's records as well as to offer whatever support I can. And—I feel responsible for what happened—"

"No," said Lance. "You did good, Milton. You…were there…when no one else…"

"What happened?" asked Andrea softly as she watched Lance's labored breathing.

"We had a team out on a run," Guerrero explained. "They were due back a few days ago. Lance here and one've our best men, CJ, were swamped by biters at the gate and no one was on the wall to provide cover fire for them, so Lance was bit and CJ was beyond help by the time we got to 'em."

"Whoever the son of a bitch is who was supposed to be on duty is gonna find my boot so far up his ass—" began Fletcher, but the Governor cut him off.

"He'll face his punishment in due time. I didn't keep schedules've who's on guard all the time because I trusted that my men—and women—could handle it like adults, but I see now that that was a mistake on my part and it cost two good men their lives. I'm drawin' up a schedule tonight and it's gonna be followed at all times unless otherwise approved by me. Any changes in shifts needta pass through me first. We're not gonna ever let another one've our own die because've somethin' like this."

"I don't think it was an accident," said Milton. "I think it was premeditated."

Milton's bold statement was met with silence and looks of shock from the others, including Andrea who couldn't believe that anyone in Woodbury—except perhaps Crowley, Benson, and Kendall—would willingly stage a walker attack on CJ, Lance, and their team and ensure that no one was on wall duty so that all of them would end up dead. Even if there was a grudge held against one of those men, the likelihood that this accident had been planned was too ridiculous to even consider.

"I'm not saying that the guard missing in action put careful planning into all of this. I just think that whoever was on duty saw CJ and Lance and chose not to go to their aid. The guard ran and hid so that he couldn't be held accountable."

"Or whoever was on duty was trying to prove a sick point by suggesting that Woodbury isn't as safe as it should be with biters getting in and having our men open to attack," said Fletcher. "Maybe this guy's sending a message to the Governor that the town's slipping."

"The safety of our people is the only thing I care about and I'll shoot any man down in cold blood for suggestin' otherwise," said the Governor and Andrea saw the stirrings of something not quite human behind his eyes. The maddened look on his face was that of someone who was fighting to not come unhinged. "Now, call me crazy, but after havin' biters break into Woodbury and then havin' the wall guard be absent while two've our own were attacked at the gate, I'm startin' t'think we've got a traitor in our midst. Somebody in this town's either tryin' t'get certain people killed, or they're just a sick-minded fuck, but I aim t'find out and make that bastard pay. The way I see it, though, he won't make any more moves while I'm here because he knows I'm the law. So I won't be here. Lance's team was supposed t'bring back a fair haul've supplies, but since we don't have those supplies, somebody's gotta go out and get 'em if we wanna keep Woodbury runnin' like it has been with biters bein' the only thing people panic about. I'm goin' with Kendall, Shumpert, and Tim on a run and we'll be gone for a few days t'recover what Lance's team couldn't get. In the meantime, this shithead's gonna try somethin' and I expect Woodbury's army t'be ready for him when he does."

"Leaving Woodbury at a time like this, do you really think that's a good idea?" asked Milton. "What if we drastically miscalculate this person's next move and someone else ends up dead? You're leaving us in a vulnerable state—"

"I know that, and God knows I don't wanna, but whoever's behind this knows that I'm onto him by now and he won't try anythin' if I'm around. That's why I'm leavin', and Woodbury'll be co-governed by you'n Merle, Milton."

Andrea, Guerrero, Fletcher, Wes, and Tate exchanged looks with each other that suggested that they didn't know whether to laugh, scoff, or violently protest the Governor's ruling. Asking Merle and Milton to cooperate in running Woodbury was like asking a lion to lie down next to its prey and suggesting that the lion not eat the prey.

"I know what I'm askin'," said the Governor as he read their faces. "And I know the two've you won't let me down. Merle runs the army and Milton keeps things in order. I trust y'all t'do your part in helpin' keep this place runnin' while I'm gone. But when our suspect rears his ugly head, I give you permission t'deal with 'im however you deem appropriate. He'll make a move and I'm countin' on all've you t'protect our people. That means keepin' mum about this so as not to let the bastard know that we're onto 'im."

" _Martinez for Governor, come in Governor."_

"What now?" asked the Governor irritably, holding the walkie-talkie up to his mouth. "Go for the Governor, what's wrong?"

" _Crowley's making a scene,_ " came the voice of Martinez. " _Erica was on her way back from checking on Janine and Crowley started harassing her."_

"That's it," said Guerrero, slamming his fist on the table and stomping off toward the door. "I'll teach the fucker to put his hands on _my_ girl—"

"Guerrero, don't," called Fletcher, but Guerrero had already gone.

"I'd hoped we couldda taken care've this in private, but if Crowley's gonna act out when I gave him orders to stay civil, so be it. Merle, Fletcher, Wes, come with me; we're locking this dipshit up. Tate, you'n Andrea keep an eye on Lance. If he turns, you know what to do."

Tate nodded solemnly and took out his pistol, but he seemed reluctant to use it. He probably had never had to put anyone down before and wasn't eager to start.

"You should go help," Andrea told him. "I've got it here."

Tate raised his eyebrows at her.

"I've got it," she repeated. "I've done it before."

With a grateful nod, Tate rushed out after the others, leaving Andrea and Milton to stand sentry for Lance's deteriorating body.

"Thank you," said Lance with his eyes closed. "Tate's a good guy…never had to end it…wasn't ready."

"He'll have to sometime, but not tonight, and not for a friend," said Andrea. She turned to Milton who was nervously pressing down on his damp hair as it started to frizz in the humidity.

"You talked to him, didn't you? About Crowley, asking that he be put away for what he did?"

"I demanded, actually," said Milton. "I wanted something to be done about it, especially after today. We can't have two unpredictable men walking around freely inside the walls, so taking Crowley out of the picture helps to narrow down the stress, however small of a saving grace that may be."

"Thank you," said Andrea, both surprised and touched that Milton had stepped out of his comfort zone to insist that the Governor do something about Crowley. She heard shouts from outside and turned back toward the door.

"I just didn't expect that my suggestion would be considered this time with how Phillip's fought me on it. Now all we need to worry about is when and if this rogue shows his face and how Merle and I are going to deal with him if he does because putting the two of us in a situation where we need to act as equals with shared responsibilities is just asking for— _shit!_ "

Andrea saw Lance lunge for Milton out of the corner of her eye and it surely would have taken off Milton's nose if a bullet hadn't passed through its skull at that precise moment. The projectile had come from the doorway and Andrea saw Merle standing there, lowering his pistol and shaking his head.

"Dumbass," he said.

Milton had attempted to retreat when Lance came at him, but ran out of space to flee so that back of his thighs were pressed into the edge of the table behind him. Lance's blood had splattered across his face, neck, and shirt before the body crumpled.

"God _dammit_ , Merle!" Milton shouted. "I just finished getting all of that earlier blood off of me!"

Wes and Tate returned first, clearly drawn back by the sound of the gunshot. They saw Lance's body at Milton's feet and Tate signed something to Wes that made his twin frown.

"Could've been _your_ blood thatchoo're covered in, y'ungrateful bucket've cat piss," Merle retorted. "I won't bother next time."

Though he sounded enraged when he spoke to Merle, Milton had quickly retreated into himself and Andrea could see the panic coming. Milton's hands were trembling at his side, flexing to try and contain himself, but to no avail. His shoulders tensed and his lower lip quavered. Maybe it was the prospect of having a friend's blood all over him, or maybe it was a delayed reaction to nearly getting his face ripped off, but Andrea knew he was about to have a meltdown.

"Go clean that off," said Andrea. "Tate, maybe you can help him?"

Nodding to show that he understood her subtle message, Tate ushered Milton out and as soon as they had gone, Merle started cleaning up the blood on the floor with a wad of paper towels from the table. Andrea pulled out another wad and helped him, careful to avoid stepping or kneeling in any of the blood.

"Good job keepin' an eye on Lance," said Merle.

"Whatever was going on outside didn't help," said Andrea defensively.

"If you're the one babysittin' Milton, y'can't let nothin' distract ya. He's a useless pile've horseshit—"

"He's inexperienced," said the Governor, reappearing with Guerrero and Fletcher, the latter of whom had a firm grip on the former's arm to keep him from running back outside. "I've discussed his ineptitude with weapons and biters with him and we agreed that it'd be best for him t'start trainin' with you. His first shift's with you, and I know you're on tonight 'cause you told me earlier. Milton's gotta learn and the sooner he gets the hang've it, the sooner I expect you t'treat 'im like a fellow soldier and not an inferior, which he's not. While I'm gone, you keep a civil manner 'round 'im, is that understood?"

Merle stopped scrubbing at the blood and looked up at the Governor who towered far above him. The Governor was already a good five inches taller than Merle, but as Merle knelt, he looked belittled to the height of a child under the menacing glare of a parent. Andrea recalled her talk with Merle about the marks she guessed were on his back, about the marks in his heart that his father had left. Merle hated being talked down to and hated being in a position that left him with little to no power. As a result, he said nothing, holding the Governor's gaze.

Fearing that his inaction might make the Governor's already boiling temper spill over, Andrea nudged Merle with her knee as she continued wiping at the blood.

"Understood, Governor," said Merle, though it sounded to Andrea like he said it through clenched teeth.

"Good," said the Governor. "Andrea, I trust you've gotten your fill've some've the more unpleasant things we gotta do 'round here sometimes. If you can handle that and not go yappin' about what happened, you'll be welcome back here anytime. For now, though, lemme finish up for you and you go on back to your room."

The Governor took a fresh roll of paper towels to help Merle finish mopping up Lance's blood while Guerrero, Fletcher, and Wes started carrying Lance's body to a gurney at the back of the lab. Andrea tried not to look like she was in a hurry as she shuffled out and ran to Milton's apartment. She was halfway up the stairs to his room when she saw Tate on his way down.

"Is he okay?" she asked.

Tate scribbled at his whiteboard and held up the words: _Threw up in the toilet for a bit. Told me he'd be fine, but sounded odd. Might want to check on him._

"That's what I'm going to do right now," Andrea assured Tate. "Thank you for being so helpful lately. I really do appreciate it."

Tate wiped his whiteboard clear and then wrote: _I live in apartment right under you, come knock if need me. Always happy to help friends._

Andrea squeezed his hand in gratitude and then hurried up the rest of the stairs, rounding the corner and knocking on Milton's door twice before letting herself in.

"Andrea, I'm not fully dressed—"

She saw Milton use the towel to cover his upper body as a red tint began to grow at the base of his neck, creeping upward to rest on his cheeks.

"Milton, you don't have boobs; you don't have to cover up," said Andrea, trying not to smile. "And you're blushing."

"No, I'm not," said Milton indignantly, shifting the towel to hide his face.

"Yes, you are, and you're also still covered in blood. You missed a whole bunch of spots."

"Damn," said Milton quietly, turning to the mirror over his bedside table to examine his face. With his back exposed, Andrea could see that there was a bruise forming between his shoulder blades and more blood behind his ears.

"How the hell did you get blood behind your ears?" she asked him incredulously.

"Oh, that was from earlier," said Milton, whirling back around so that Andrea couldn't see his back anymore.

"What happened earlier?"

"I fell," said Milton dismissively.

"You fell," Andrea repeated.

"Off the wall."

"What were you doing on the wall?"

"What the wall guard should have been doing," said Milton, and his face fell. "I ran up to try and help when I realized the guard was gone, but by a turn of unlucky events, I fell and got biter blood on me. And I thought I'd gotten it all…"

"Let me help you," Andrea offered, going to his water closet and running a face towel under the water for a moment.

"No, no, that's okay, I can get it."

"If you didn't get it the first time, you won't be able to this time because you can't see what you're doing. Let me help." She approached Milton with the towel.

"No, really, I can handle it—"

"Bullshit. I asked you before to not insult my intelligence. You're terrified of needles and blood and don't say you're not because I could see it on your face in the lab. If Tate hadn't gotten you out when he did, you would have screamed and he told me that he was concerned you might hurt yourself trying to get the blood off which you clearly _didn't_ do, so you're going to sit down and let me help you because I don't need to hear about you having a nervous breakdown in the morning."

"It's a logical fear and I manage—"

Andrea snapped at Milton's bed. "Sit," she said firmly. "You helped me by getting the Governor to finally do something about Crowley, so let me help you."

Milton sank down onto the edge of his bed and perched there with his towel still draped around him. Andrea went over to the opposite side, crawled across to him on her knees, and started wiping the spare blood splatters with the towel. When she stuck a corner of the towel behind Milton's ear to get the blood lodged there, Milton flinched, bringing the side of his head to his shoulder. Moments later, gooseflesh erupted across his back and Andrea had to suppress a smile.

"I see someone's ticklish," she teased.

"It's a very sensitive place on the body," said Milton. "It's susceptible to the tiniest touch—"

"Yeah, and you're ticklish."

As Andrea searched out all of the spots Milton had missed, she saw a rather peculiar indent in Milton's back where one of his vertebrae should have been, but instead of poking outward with bone, his skin dipped in, tightened by what looked like a scar.

"Are you missing a bone in your vertebrae?"

"No, but I did have back surgery when I was younger. For what, I don't know. My parents never explained it to me."

"You had a lot of things wrong with you, didn't you?"

"It seems I still do," sighed Milton. "I can't wield a weapon for shit, I can't protect the people here, I can't even protect myself against a threat I should have known was coming. My only defense is words, and sometimes even those fail me."

"The Governor said that the two of you agreed that you'd start training with the army," said Andrea, moving off of the bed so that Milton could replace his shirt.

"Phillip agreed with himself. I was lassoed in, more or less."

"But you said yourself that you don't have the experience. Being in the army can give you that experience—"

"Me training to kill things with Merle's help," said Milton skeptically. "Now there's a match made in heaven."

"You couldn't ask for a more knowledgeable instructor," said Andrea. "I'm not saying he's a good teacher because he's not, but he does know what he's doing and he knows the best way to do it. Learn what you can from him and I'll teach you the rest."

Milton fixed his glasses from where they had fallen crookedly down his nose after he pulled his shirt back on. "I couldn't ask you to do that."

"What else am I going to do? It's not like I have a job I have to report to or risk being fired from. The Governor will be happy to know that I'm helping you. And if you're going to be training under Merle, you'll need some constructive criticism. Just promise me that you'll do your best and not let anything he says get to you and I'll do the rest."

There came a knock on the door and Andrea heard Merle call, "Miltie, y'better get that ass out here if y'wanna learn t'hold a gun without shootin' your foot off."

Milton scratched at the back of his neck, but nodded and said quietly so that Merle wouldn't hear through the door, "I'll do my best. Go hide in the water closet until Merle and I leave so that he won't have any sexually deprecating remarks to give you."

Andrea knew she was pushing her boundaries with Milton, especially with how uncomfortable he was being shirtless around her, but she didn't care. She planted a kiss on his cheek and then went to wait in the water closet, deciding it was best to not look back at him.


	13. Chapter 13: Half the Problem

**MERLE**

Merle's first night training Milton was, in short, disastrous, and all they'd done was stand guard atop the back wall for four hours. Milton couldn't carry a rifle in his arms for very long and had to revert to slinging it over his back and when that became too much, he sat down atop one of the tire towers to catch his breath. Merle would have let him practice shooting with the rifle if not for the abysmal way in which Milton was trying to hold it to aim. Instead, he put a silencer on Milton's official issued pistol that he was to carry on his person at all times and made him shoot at an incoming biter. Five shots were wasted before Milton put the biter down and from then on, Merle decided to drill Milton in the training lot with blanks until he could be sure to hit the target in his first two shots at least. They didn't have enough ammo for Milton to waste nearly a hundred percent of his shots.

From the beginning, Merle knew he was a lost cause, but Milton refused to quit and didn't so much as make a whining peep about being out in the midnight heat instead of in his bed, fast asleep and oblivious to all else. Even Andrea had given Merle grief about his teaching methods, but Milton said nothing except to answer Merle's questions and gave all of his effort even though both of them knew full well that Milton didn't want to be there.

By the time they swapped out with the midnight shift guard, both of them were exhausted and quite angry at one another, but Milton had said nothing in rebuttal to Merle's taunts and mean-spirited comments. Merle went to bed on edge and woke up on edge, dressing, showering, and eating breakfast with the same expression and mannerisms for each activity as if his clothes, shower, and food had done him a personal wrong. He was already in a foul mood when Guerrero caught up to him on the street after Merle had been watching a gaggle of people crowding outside the infirmary.

"The hell's goin' on?" he asked Guerrero.

"Erica and I woke up and the twins weren't in the spare bedroom, so we started looking for 'em. Nate turned up with Tate making community breakfast, but we still can't find Nina. And then Janine went to Dr. Stephens sometime in the night and first thing this morning, Dr. Stephens said she slipped into a coma. So basically, a small section of Woodbury descended into chaos during the night and if I can't find that girl in the next hour, we're going to have a panic on our hands."

"That'd be a hell've a way t'start my first day in charge, huh?"

"Partially in charge," Milton corrected as he joined them. "Phillip's orders were simple: maintain order and catch the culprit. I'll have Andrea and some of the others start looking for Nina—"

"Guerrero!" shouted Erica from the third story window of hers and Guerrero's apartment. "Get up here now!"

Drawn in by her cries, Fletcher and Elliot ran to the front door of the building as other early-morning goers started speaking nervously to one another about Erica's tone. Milton assured Merle that he would keep everyone calm on the outside and then Merle followed Guerrero and the other two up the winding staircase to the third floor apartment. Erica opened the door for them and then led them to the bathroom.

"What's wrong?" asked Guerrero.

"I found Nina," said Erica, looking to be on the verge of tears, which did not go well with her swollen, bandaged nose. "She'd come back while I was out looking for her and she locked herself in the bathroom. I just got her to let me in and…"

"And what?"

Erica knocked on the bathroom door and opened it a smidge to let herself in. Merle heard her talking to Nina on the other side and then heard Nina whimper pleadingly.

Nate and Nina had been in Guerrero and Erica's care since yesterday when Merle delivered the news that CJ was dead, so what the hell had gone on since then? Where had Nina gone between now and when Guerrero first noticed her missing? What could possibly have happened to her if she was being protected at all hours?

"What? What's wrong with her?" asked Elliot.

Erica opened the door to reveal Nina who was still wearing her clothes from the day before and clutching the shower curtain in fear. With a reassuring tone, Erica tried to show Merle and the others the back of Nina's legs, but the girl was terrified and kept pulling her skirt down.

"Honey, it's okay, they're not going to hurt you," Erica reasoned.

"Not them," said Nina fearfully. " _Him._ "

Merle was never good with kids. He didn't know how to baby-talk the infants to calm them down or how to put on the cool-guy-charm for the ones who hadn't hit puberty yet or how to be a mentor or role model to the ones who were mature enough to know how serious the apocalypse was. But Nathan and Nina had been the first to introduce themselves to him when he was still on his probation period, still an outsider, and they trusted him like they had trusted their uncle. With CJ, their best guardian and uncle gone, they had no male figure to turn to, so Merle had to give this whole father-figure thing a shot, if only for a moment.

"Lemme see, honey," said Merle as kindly as he could. The words tasted odd on his tongue and he never wanted to have to talk to a child like it was his own again, but they had the desired effect.

Nina's tears finally spilt out and she hugged Merle around the waist, which was the highest part of him she could reach. Uncomfortable at her touch, Merle patted her head and then gently pried her loose. He knelt down on her level and Erica turned the girl around. Erica lifted up Nina's skirt to reveal her thighs which were black and blue.

"God, no," gasped Elliot.

"Son've a _bitch_ ," Guerrero swore.

Fletcher's face contorted into one of insatiable rage.

Pain rippled across Merle's back as his mind went reeling into the past, placing him under the hand of his old man who was walloping him with a belt buckle. Merle pleaded with his dad to stop and called for his mom to come to his aid, but she had taken Daryl into the bedroom and locked the door so that Merle's dad couldn't get to them.

Merle saw the bruises on Nina's thighs and the fight or flight instinct pounded in his ears. It was one thing (though still not an acceptable thing) to beat a child of your own in fits of drunken rage, but to take out your anger on someone else's child to teach them to distrust humans when humans were an endangered race was inexcusable.

Erica held Nina to her and shed tears for the girl. She looked up at the men gathered around her, her eyes commanding an unspoken act of justice for Nina until she got to Merle. He understood what she wanted, but she said it aloud anyway.

"Kill him," said Erica, and Merle didn't need to inquire as to who she was talking about.

It became clear now, who had been on the wall the day before and who deliberately left CJ and Lance to their undeserving fate. This was the same man who had sent Janine to Dr. Stephens at the early hours and who was responsible for her being in a coma, out of fear or physical cause.

Merle, Guerrero, Fletcher, and Elliot formed the posse that stormed out into the streets to seek him out. As the townspeople mingled and came to their own conclusions about how Janine had ended up in a coma, Merle spotted him chatting with Becky just two doors down in front of the library. With a burst of speed, Merle charged for him, and heard the others keeping pace.

Wade looked up, saw the posse coming for him, and attempted to run, but Merle got to him first, and tackled him. He punched Wade in the gut and held him down as Guerrero, Fletcher, and Elliot began to kick the man in the ribs and back. The people of Woodbury shouted and screamed, but no one attempted to intervene as Guerrero lifted Wade by his bangs and held him up so that Merle could pummel his face with his metal casing while Fletcher and Elliot continued to batter the prick in the torso.

With every punch, Merle imagined the terrified look on Nina's face as Wade struck her repeatedly. Someone would surely have heard the little girl's screams, which made Merle think that Wade had gagged her to prevent her from making a sound. And if Wade had gone the extra step and done the one thing Merle prayed he hadn't, Nina would have to carry that ordeal with her for the rest of her life. Merle couldn't tolerate the thought; he refused to accept it. But that didn't cause him to let up on Wade.

The cuts that opened up across Wade's face were justification for all the beatings Merle had endured at the hands of a drunken bastard of a father. The bruises and welts left by Merle and his companions were payback for every mark that same father had left on Daryl. Someone had to pay for the things that had happened to the Dixon brothers—someone who did the same type of thing to other children and got away with it. Even if it was over fifty years in the making, justice would be done today for a lifetime of abuse.

Merle heard a gunshot and stopped with his fist raised to knock out Wade's remaining teeth. Guerrero still had a hold on Wade's hair and his grip had torn out a few strands so that there was blood on Wade's forehead. Elliot had been in the process of going for a kick to the groin and presently fell over as he tried to keep his balance. Fletcher had somehow managed to get Wade's blood on his own face.

Merle saw that once again, it was Milton who had fired the shot to restore order, which was about the only thing Milton could accomplish with a weapon. He was staring open-mouthed at Merle and the posse as Dr. Stephens ran to Wade and ordered them all to back off. Coming to his feet, Merle did as he was told, but he was still watching Milton. True, Milton had called a halt to the assault on Wade, but he had been standing amongst the onlookers for the entire beating and he'd allowed it to go on for as long as it had. He could have fired that warning shot at any time, or even the moment Merle put his hands on Wade, but he didn't. He let it all happen, which told Merle that even if his face said otherwise, he knew Merle had a damn good reason to do what he did.

"Is he still alive?" Milton asked after a few tense moments in which Dr. Stephens checked Wade's vitals and tested his limbs.

"Barely," said Dr. Stephens. "Over half of the bones in his body are broken or fractured in some place."

"Dammit, Merle," said Milton, rounding on him. "The Governor would have handled this in a civil manner by having Wade escorted from Woodbury. This—this is unacceptable. You almost killed him—"

"That was the whole point," said Guerrero. "He hit that little girl, might have even molested her—and that's after he put her mother in a coma and got her uncle killed. Wake up, Milts, you know it was him. You think the Governor was gonna let all of his shit pass when he found out?"

"I seen Janine before," said Merle. "Wade had beaten her 'cause CJ wasn't there t'stop 'im. But Wade knew CJ was comin' back, an' he abandoned his post on the wall when he saw them biters attackin' CJ so that he could do what he pleased with Janine and the kids. He's the reason Janine's in the infirmary right now and the reason her little girl's in Erica's bathroom sobbin' with bruises all over her. This fucker put his hands on her and damned if I's gonna stand here an' not deal out the ass whuppin' this piece've shit deserves."

"His kind doesn't deserve to live, even in a shitty world like this," added Fletcher. "We intended to kill him."

Milton looked horrified at the news that Wade had done more than just beaten Janine on occasion, and in his silence, Benson moved over to Wade and spoke up. "Can Nina confirm that Wade was the one who assaulted her?"

"The hell's wrong with you?" asked Merle incredulously. "Y'wanna bring that girl out here and make 'er face the man who mighta raped her? Y'wanna make her show everybody what he did to her? The four've us seen her already an' Erica can testify to that. That miserable fuck you're guardin' deserves what he got an' more."

"You want to see what he did? _This_ is what he did," said Erica as she walked slowly toward the gathered citizens with Nina in her arms. She lifted the back of Nina's skirt again and Merle heard no less than fifty people gasp while another fifteen or so swore.

"That was Wade?" asked Wes.

"Yes. Now, which one of you is going to tell me that she deserved what she got and that Wade deserves priority treatment over her?" Erica challenged, glaring at them all.

Tate broke from the crowd and strode over to where Erica stood. He signed something and then held out his arms. His eyes welled with tears and Merle understood that Tate was in pain for Nina. He wanted to protect her, hold her, and care for her in the only way he knew how. Erica didn't need to know sign language to know those intentions. She held Nina out to Tate and the girl reached for him, clinging to his neck and burrowing her face into the crook of it. Tate carried her to the infirmary where Dr. Stephens was already headed, having enlisted the help of two or three able-bodied men to carry what was left of Wade behind her.

The town dispersed, but Merle sent Fletcher and Elliot to the wall where a sizeable portion of Woodbury's army was gathered to discuss what had just happened. If any of the soldiers wanted to seek vengeance for Wade by attacking Janine, Nate, and Nina, Merle wanted to know, though he doubted that anyone would since Wade never had many friends in Woodbury to begin with.

"Another two minutes and we would've killed that bastard," said Guerrero.

"I still aim to," Merle vowed. "I'mma kill 'im tonight after Dr. Stephens leaves."

He hadn't anticipated how soon he was going to carry out the assassination, but he'd known it from the moment he saw Nina's legs that he was going to be the one to kill Wade Doherty.

"No offense, dude, but you're not exactly stealth material when you're pissed off. We don't perform autopsies here, so the best way to kill him is with poison. I know where it is, I know how to get it, and I can do it quieter than you. I'll do it."

"No offense t'you, _dude_ , but I don't trust nobody in this town, an' that means I don't trust you t'kill that bastard. Only other man that's got no morals in this place right now besides me's not you."

"That's what you became when the world went to shit, dude, but I've always been like this. Offing people was the job that paid my bills and now it's the job that keeps me at the top of the food chain. I'm completely amoral and if I had it my way, I'd torture that fucker for weeks, but by then the Governor will be back and we'll be up shit creek without a paddle, so it's gotta be done tonight, and if you wanna do it, be my guest, but it's gotta happen."

Merle considered the fact that Guerrero might be full of shit and just trying to set him up, but that suspicion was born of fifty-six years of doubt and distrust. In Woodbury, Merle had made a name for himself as the best warrior, tracker, and weapons man, which had earned him some respect as well as loyal companions and Guerrero had to be one of them. Everything the two had been through together inside and outside the walls had placed them on the same team, united against a common enemy. And Guerrero had helped him beat Wade; he wanted the bastard dead.

"Get me the poison and we'll go together," Merle proposed.

/ /

They decided to sneak in through the back entrance since the front could clearly be seen by the wall sentry. It struck Merle as odd that there was no one guarding the infirmary, especially since the entire town knew that at least four people wanted Wade dead. Perhaps, after the revealing of Nina's bruises, the town felt no sympathy for Wade and refused to defend him anymore than locking the door to the infirmary. If someone wanted in badly enough, the town didn't care to stop them.

"Stick him in his thigh," said Guerrero as he picked at the lock while Merle stood guard. "And if he wakes up while it's happening, I'll hold him down while you cover his mouth. Then we mop up any excess blood and scram."

"Done this before, huh?" asked Merle darkly.

"Never with a partner in crime," replied Guerrero in an equally dark tone.

Merle heard a satisfying _click_ as Guerrero managed to open the lock and the two of them proceeded into the darkened infirmary. They passed the first door on their right which stood slightly ajar to reveal Janine inside. Merle saw her battered and bruised face and any doubts he had about finishing Wade off tonight disappeared completely.

 _Fell into a coma my ass_ , thought Merle at the sight of the twins' mother. More likely, Wade had knocked her unconscious, panicked, and deposited her on the infirmary doorstep for Dr. Stephens to find first thing that morning and with the doctor being the type of woman who didn't like to pry into other people's business or start unwanted gossip, she kept quiet about what she suspected was the real situation and fed everyone else the story of how Janine had checked herself in.

The second door down was locked from the outside, though Merle didn't see why since he'd made sure to break both of Wade's legs and arms so that the bastard couldn't even make it to the door. He wouldn't be coming out of that room anytime soon—at least, not alive.

Guerrero opened the door, pulling out the syringe and handing it to Merle as he went inside. The two of them stood on either side of Wade's bed, scowling down at him in his brutalized form. Dr. Stephens had broken out her second and last respirator, but oxygen was a precious resource—one of the ones CJ and Lance were supposed to retrieve and the Governor was now out looking for—and any oxygen they had needed to be spared for Janine.

With a _well, get on with it_ type of look, Guerrero positioned himself to grab Wade if he needed to. Merle plunged the needle into Wade's thigh and Wade came awake, his mouth opening to scream. In one fluid movement, Guerrero had pinned Wade down and Merle dropped the syringe on the bed to remove the respirator and slap his hand over Wade's mouth.

"I hope it's painful, you fuck," whispered Guerrero as Wade's swollen, but terrified eyes began to bulge as the poison spread throughout his body. "I hope the demons in hell beat you like you did to that little girl and I hope they fuck you raw. And when I make it down there, I'm coming for you again."

Wade's body shook violently and Merle had to help Guerrero hold him down. Blood began to trickle out of Wade's orifices and Guerrero swore, motioning frantically at the towels beside the bed which Merle snatched up to catch the blood before it dripped on the sheets. Wade made the entire bed move as he jerked and thrashed around, but instead of gradually dying down as the poison claimed his body, he stopped moving altogether in a sudden halt with his eyes still wide open and bloodshot.

Guerrero took his knife and opened up a small cut across the miniscule hole left by the syringe in Wade's thigh to hide it. He then wrapped the syringe in a protective material and pocketed it before wadding up the blood-stained towels and wiping any excess blood away from Wade's face. When he'd finished by closing Wade's eyes, he unclenched Wade's fists which had balled up in death. He smoothed out the bunched up sheets underneath Wade's fists and stepped back to admire his handiwork.

Merle had to hand it to him; the scene looked exactly the same as when they'd entered except now Wade's bruised skin was extremely pale in places.

"Hell, huh?" said Merle in the silence that followed.

"Well, with the things I've done, it's not looking too good for the other option, dude. It's not looking too good for you either."

"I got a question for ya, now that we've done what we came t'do: what're we s'posed t'do when he turns? Try explainin' how he got a knife in the head with no one t'take credit for it."

"I've got it, dude," said Guerrero, stabbing Wade several times in the scalp with another syringe, this one slightly thicker, but still lethal. He mopped up the blood trickles that seeped out from under Wade's mat of mousy hair and had begun to put this second syringe away when Merle heard movement from behind the gurney in the corner of the room.

Merle and Guerrero both drew their pistols and Guerrero shined his flashlight on the corner to reveal—Milton.

"Son've a bitch, Milton, y'tryin' t'get shot?" asked Merle, lowering his weapon as Milton came unarmed into plainer view.

"You'd better do some fast talking, Milts, or you're gonna go the same way as Wade in about five seconds," said Guerrero with his gun still held on Milton.

"I may not agree with your method for disposing of Wade or the fact that you actually did it, but I support your reasoning," said Milton, visibly sweating under pressure. "When the Governor returns, I'll act the horrified lieutenant and vow to find out how Wade died in his sleep and if the Governor suspects that someone killed him, I'll play dumb. It won't matter much since Wade was half of the problem that we thought was a single equation, but there's still someone in Woodbury who purposely broke the fence open to allow biters in and Wade wasn't that person."

"How do you know?" Guerrero challenged.

"Because Wade was on wall duty that night," said Milton. "I remember seeing him up there right before the first biters got in. Wade did abandon his post when Lance and CJ arrived, but he didn't let the biters in."

"Damn," said Guerrero.

"That still don't tell me why you're coverin' for us again, Miltie. Whatchoo owe us? Or better yet, are y'doin' this so that we'll owe _you_ , 'cause I'mma tell ya right now, that shit's not happenin'."

"I suspected that Wade had been traumatizing Janine and the children when we delivered the news that CJ had died, but my suspicions were confirmed when I saw the two of you plus Fletcher and Elliot pummeling him for all the town to see. I let it go on because I'm in agreement with you in believing that child molesters, child abusers, and the like deserve a harsh sentence, but I'm also partially in charge of keeping order and the town couldn't take much more of watching you go at it, so I put a stop to it. But I knew that you'd want to finish the job, so I told Dr. Stephens that I would watch Wade tonight and alert her if anything happened to him, and I will. I'll tell her in one hour that Wade passed away in his sleep and attacked me and that I stabbed him in the head when he reanimated. Meanwhile, the two of you will not be here."

Guerrero looked impressed, but Merle still couldn't see how the law-abiding, rule-following, cowardly recluse was suddenly so willing to start lying to cover for Merle and Guerrero.

"An' after everythin' the Governor's made Woodbury's army do, y'ain't gonna tell 'im that his top two assassins killed a child molestor?"

Milton shook his head and there was no trace of the timid man who quailed under the Governor's every command. "The two of you were there when Michonne cut me; you told me the flat-out truth that I'd been used as bait, and I may not have a mean bone in my body, but I don't take kindly to being treated like that. I've started to put my trust less and less in Phillip's way of running things, especially lately in him making questionable decisions like letting Crowley walk around freely after attacking Andrea and Erica and going on a run so that our enemies will expose themselves."

"So, in other words, you've finally grown a pair," said Guerrero.

/ /

Merle wasn't due to take over for Andrea for another hour and a half, but he still stood watching her from below as she guarded the back wall, scanning the horizon with a slow sweep of her head from left to right and back again. As if sensing that someone was watching her, Andrea glanced over her shoulder and saw him.

"You're not due out for a while yet," she said.

"I know."

"Something on your mind?"

Milton was starting to get fed up with being the Governor's lab rat. Michonne had asked Merle to potentially deliver something to Andrea, putting Merle at great risk with the Governor. Nate and Nina might be orphans if Janine didn't come out of her coma. Three of Woodbury's citizens had died in two days. The Governor didn't seem as committed to the town as he claimed he was. The other soldiers knew that Merle would fight tooth and claw to defend Andrea. Daryl might still be out there, alive or undead. And Merle had just murdered a defenseless man, his first kill ever done on his own accord in the apocalypse.

No, Merle didn't have anything on his mind.

"You want to talk?"

Here was an offer ready-made for Merle to spend time alone with Andrea and chat her up, maybe even get her in a good mood, but he denied himself the opportunity. He didn't feel up for company tonight.

"Naw, I'm good for the night, honey."

And then he threw up.


	14. Chapter 14: An Unwilling Leader

**MILTON**

"Just died in the night, huh?" repeated Dr. Stephens after Milton had revealed to her that Wade had passed away in his sleep and then promptly reanimated to attack Milton. The bloody scalpel Milton showed Dr. Stephens was proof enough that he'd had to stab Wade's corpse to put him down, but the doctor was still searching for signs of what might have caused Wade's death by poking and prodding at him.

"Maybe all those hits he took in the beating ruptured something vital," Milton suggested, praying that Dr. Stephens wouldn't go searching in Wade's orifices for any tell-tale signs of poisoning.

"It's a possibility," Dr. Stephens agreed. "I don't have an x-ray machine, so I can't scan him for anything that might have been going on inside. I had a feeling he wasn't going to last long, but I don't think anyone's gonna be especially put out by his death."

"I'll make the announcement quietly," said Milton. "Then I'll send someone over to collect the body and prepare it for cremation."

"Lemme see your neck."

Dr. Stephens lifted the bandage on Milton's neck to check his stitches and gave a satisfied nod. "It's coming along nicely, as it should. Another week and a half and I'll take those out."

"I look forward to it," said Milton.

"I don't appreciate the sarcasm."

"Sorry," Milton lied. "This is my first time killing a biter who I had known before it turned. I'm a little on edge."

He left the infirmary in search of some men to take Wade's body to the burning pile in the currently unoccupied biter cage. At the wall, he called Martinez over.

"Would you please send a few men to the infirmary to dispose of a body?"

"Who died?" asked Martinez nonchalantly.

"Wade."

"Good," said Martinez, turning to a fellow guard who was on the wall with him. "Yo, Tim, get Fletcher and Wes down to the infirmary."

"They're not here," said Tim. "Our scout saw a big biter group coming this way and Fletcher took Wes and a few others to turn 'em around and take 'em the other way."

"Then find someone else, will ya?"

Milton was interested to hear how many biters entitled the scout to report them as "a big group". As half of Woodbury's stand-in leader, Milton knew it was his responsibility to see to the problem, keep the people calm, and then enlist the help of Merle to gather whatever human resources they needed.

"When did the scout report this group?" he asked Martinez.

"Forty minutes ago, maybe."

"How many did Fletcher take?"

"Dunno, I think four."

"Did they go by foot? Did they give an estimated return time?"

"Hell, Milton, _I don't know_. Why're you so concerned, anyway? The heavy lifting's for Woodbury's soldiers, not the advisors. We got this."

"I happen to be one of Woodbury's soldiers," said Milton defiantly and Martinez burst out laughing, joined in by the three other men on duty. Milton knew they were laughing at his expense because he was an abysmal shot and hardly trained enough to qualify as a soldier, but he'd only had one night of training. He'd resume when Phillip returned because at the moment, he needed to procure a peaceful atmosphere within the community and not focus on his own defensive abilities.

Dabbing at the tears of mirth brimming in his eyes, Martinez looked down on Milton with his hands on his hips. "Look, I'm all for a joke, Milton, but that shit's downright hilarious. You stick to what you're good at and leave Woodbury's defense to us."

"Woodbury's defense is under Merle's jurisdiction. Did he approve Fletcher's party?"

"No, Guerrero did since he's second to Merle and Merle seems to be cooped up in his room for some reason. No one's seen him all morning."

 _That's one way to look suspicious following Wade's death._

"Well, please inform Guerrero that if he wants to make any other decisions like that to run them by first until I can get this Merle situation sorted."

Thinking of a long list of unflattering names he could call both Merle and Guerrero for making a rough start to an already tense morning, Milton stormed back up the street to Merle's quarters. He knocked on Merle's door, but heard nothing from within. On his second attempt, he thought he heard the bedsprings screech, so he tried one last time and was rewarded with a faint and angry, "Piss off!"

Inviting himself in, he was not prepared for the sight that greeted him. Merle was sitting on the edge of his bed, hunched over a bucket and hugging himself. His muscle shirt clung to him in sweat as he spat into the bucket and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. The stench of vomit, body odor, and a few other smells Milton didn't care to investigate made the air nearly toxic to breathe.

"My God, what's wrong with you?" asked Milton.

Merle held up his hand to Milton with all fingers down except the middle.

"Are you contagious?"

"Come closer'n find out," Merle invited.

"What happened to you?" Milton prompted.

"Short'n sweet version: I puked a few times 'bout six hours ago and a lot more just after I left the infirmary last night. Been spittin' out all the saliva in my mouth just t'keep the taste out, but mostly I've been havin' a hard time breathin' and a got severe case've the runs."

"The runs?" Milton repeated.

"Diarrhea, dumbass, or d'you wann go an' check in the goddamn toilet? Ain't no fan in there an' the stink's already makin' the nausea worse."

"Do you think you have the flu, or perhaps some other disease?"

"I think I ate somethin' bad. I ain't runnin' no fever an' I ain't got the chills. Hell, I ain't even nauseous. Just weak."

"What can I do to help you?"

"Piss off."

"I'll call for Dr. Stephens—"

"I'll shootcha first. Don't wanna be near her 'til Wade's been dead a few days."

"She's already suspicious."

"Let 'er be; she ain't got nothin' on me. I been shittin' in here since two this mornin'."

"I understand that you're not feeling well, but you are in charge of Woodbury's army unless otherwise specified, so I need your consent to transfer authority to Guerrero since you seem to be incapacitated."

Merle waved impatiently at Milton and spat into the bucket between his legs. "Whatever, just get outta here."

Milton let himself out and then, after picking up a paper bag from the cafeteria, headed over to the mostly unoccupied building at the far end of the town that served as Crowley's prison. Some of their precious supply of timber had been used to construct a cell within a larger room which consisted of four walls, one of which had half of the window in it so that there was no way Crowley could squeeze himself through in an attempt to escape and another that had a barred section so that people could talk to Crowley through it. He had been thoroughly searched upon entry to ensure that he had nothing on him that could potentially help him break out or harm others and every one of his meals was checked for those same materials so that his known friends couldn't sneak him some tools on the pretense of delivering his meal. Only a select few individuals were allowed to pay him a visit and though Milton would have preferred not to have this duty, he couldn't very well trust Merle to it, even if Merle had been in good health.

Crowley had ripped the sheets off of his bed and set the mattress against the wall to use as a punching bag and had already made a hole in the center to reveal the springs within, but he kept at it so that feathers exploded out of the mattress with a little _poof_ every time he hit it. He didn't turn around as Milton entered the room.

"I have your breakfast," said Milton, checking the pre-made bowl of oats and the apple inside the bag before sliding it onto the tray that could be pushed through the doorflap.

"Piss off," said Crowley.

Now thoroughly annoyed at the reception he had gotten from nearly everyone this morning, Milton shoved the tray into Crowley's cell so that both it and the paper bag fell to the floor.

"I've had about enough of that sort of attitude for today and for the rest of the week. I wasn't the one who chose to make bad decisions and I advocated for you to be put in a cell rather than be turned out of Woodbury, so I would appreciate some respect."

Crowley threw his head back and laughed at the ceiling, still facing away from Milton. "Oh, you fought for me to get a nice cozy cell so that I wouldn't have to brave the dangers of the outside, is that it? After I'd been out there on my own, surviving and even thriving before I came here, you thought it would be a better idea to close me off from everything? And you expect me to believe that you did this for my own good? Oh, you wish I was that stupid."

He turned around and ran at the door, ramming into it so hard that the thing shook in its hinges. Milton stepped back warily, still watching Crowley through the barred window that showed the cell within.

"I know you pushed the Governor to have me put away. The only reason you asked for this instead of exile was because you thought I'd come back for vengeance on Woodbury. Well, I wouldn't, at least, not on the town itself or most of its people—just the ones who wronged me, so that'd be you, Merle, Guerrero, any other of Merle's buds in the army, and your whore. You know, the one I hand fucked right before Merle tried to resculpt my face."

Milton had a sudden urge to reach through the bars and throttle Crowley, not for threatening Milton's own life, but for his slight against Andrea and the fact that he seemed to relish the pain he had brought her. He showed no remorse at all, which told Milton that either he would have to spend an extremely long time in the cell learning to ask for forgiveness, or he would die in there because Milton was going to make damn sure that he never got out for as long as Milton and Andrea were residents.

"She was protecting the town. She's still new and shouldn't have any reason to be so committed to us, but she volunteered to put her life at risk for all of us. And you violated her for it."

"Bitches don't belong where the men are, you dumb prick. Bitches, kids, old people, and weak people like you. Only the hard man lives in this world and your whore thought she'd try to challenge that, so I put her and Guerrero's whore in their places. If it'd been you mouthing off to me, I would have fucked you instead, made you _my_ bitch."

Milton remembered that he was carrying a pistol at his side and he set his hand on it, more to reassure himself than anything. The motion did not go unnoticed by Crowley who scoffed at him.

"That make you feel like you've got some balls, Mamet? Well, lemme tell you a secret: when I get out of here, I'm going to fuck you with it."

"You know, Wade died this morning," said Milton, and he prayed that he could keep his voice level to finish his train of thought. "After abusing Janine and her children, after being proxy to Lance and CJ's deaths, he deserved it, and no one in town is mourning him. You did the same thing and if you die, no one will mourn you either, not if you die of natural causes, kill yourself, or are murdered."

"You trying to threaten me, you cocksucking pussy?" shouted Crowley, rattling the bars on the window.

"If you push me far enough, you'll see if I'm useless with my gun. And if you ever lay a finger on anyone in this town, I'll make it slow."

Crowley pushed his face into the bars, watching Milton with crazed eyes. "I sense an inner sadist in you, bitch. If you dropped your morals, you'd find it easier to get by in life like me. But you won't, and that's why you'll die and you'll be responsible for all of your friends dying. So I'd get to ramming your dick into your whore fast before both of you become biter bait because it's coming soon and when it does, I'm gonna stand by and watch and then I'm gonna fuck both of you."

Milton didn't like the look Crowley was giving him at all. It wasn't—natural. It wasn't just spiteful, but deliberate, calculated, other-worldly, almost like an omen—and Milton didn't believe in such things.

"In the meantime, I would start working on some better insults," said Milton, and then he hurried out the door so that Crowley wouldn't pick up on the pulse throbbing in Milton's neck. Once outside in the fresh air, he took several deep breaths to calm himself, staring at his hands which were shaking in either fear or anger, he didn't know for sure.

Crowley was provoking him, that much he knew, but he didn't trust himself to be alone with the man again, so he needed to find someone else besides Andrea who would be willing to go with him. He had just decided to forego his morning meal and finally get back to his lab to perform tests on some biter bodies when he heard a single shot ring out from the other side of the wall.

"Hostiles coming up," yelled Martinez, and as one, the wall guard drew their weapons on the procession below.

Milton jogged to the ramp, invited himself up, and kept his hand near his pistol as he peered out from between the towers of tires. About ten yards out, there stood six individuals and to put it simply, they looked mean. Dirt smudged faces, torn clothing, and deadly weapons made up their appearances, but the fact that they stood so calmly in the line of fire was what Milton found unsettling.

"Your call, Milton," said Martinez. "You wanna find out what they want or waste these suckers?"

"Don't fire unless they raise their weapons," said Milton, wishing now more than ever that Merle was here on the wall with him. He didn't approve of Merle's methods and quite frankly, he didn't like Merle at all, but he trusted the man to protect Woodbury because besides Phillip, Merle was the most experienced and most knowledgeable person they had when it came to warfare. He knew what sort of moves raiders and pillagers like these people would make whereas Milton could only form an educated case.

"Good morning," Milton called in what he hoped was a conversational tone.

"Morning," responded the man on the far right who had half of his face hidden in dreadlocks.

"What can I do for you?"

"Open your gates, let us in," said the man.

"What do you need? Supplies? Medical treatment? We can offer you—"

"Open the gates," repeated the man.

"I'm afraid that's not my call to make," said Milton somewhat nervously as he watched the intruders shuffle restlessly.

"Then who the hell made you spokesman for your people, Sunshine?"

"My name is Milton, and I'm overseer of this town, though we make decision as a council, not by dictatorship."

"Well, my name's Hobbs and my people _do_ run by way of dictatorship. We want what you've got inside and this is gonna turn ugly real fast if you don't stop stalling and open your gate for us."

"Sniper at ten," said Guerrero to Milton's left and though Milton couldn't see the sniper, he trusted that Guerrero knew the shooter was there.

"I'm sorry, but you come armed to our gate with a sniper in the trees and you wonder why we won't let you in? If it were a medical emergency, we would allow the wounded individual and another inside, but you seem to be in fine condition. I'm afraid I can't allow you to loot this place as you had so obviously hoped to do. Turn around and leave while negotiations remain calm."

"We haven't even started to negotiate, Sunshine," said Hobbs. He stuck up his left hand and made a circular motion.

From beyond the graveyard of busted cars, Milton saw at least ten more people step out of the trees. They had heavy artillery trained on Fletcher, Wes, and two others. Thinking fast, Milton played the only card he felt safe pulling out.

"As a gesture of our good faith and mutual agreement to respect the rules of engagement, I suggest a trade: supplies for the hostages."

"Naw, I don't think so," said Hobbs. "We can get most of the supplies you've got just fine on our own. It's harder to get people. It's not a fair trade off."

"Then what about allowing us to speak with one of our people under a white flag?" Milton suggested.

"If it's supervised by one of my people, sure."

"Then back up and then send one of your people with one of mine and I'll come down with a guard of my own to speak."

"Fair enough," said Hobbs, calling his people back to the tree line.

"This isn't a good idea," said Andrea to Milton as he started down the ramp. "Their sniper will take you out as soon as you step outside."

"The sniper could have done that to any of us on the wall. They know that they won't get anything if they violate the terms of parlay," said Milton, hoping that Hobbs _did_ know that, because Milton was totally bluffing to make Andrea (and privately himself) feel better. "If it goes wrong—which it shouldn't—Guerrero's got the wall and you'll take over for me. Let Merle know what's going on and don't give up Woodbury."

"You sound like you're going off on a suicide mission," said Andrea darkly.

Milton managed a weak smile, but the muscles felt foreign on his face. "It'll be fine, trust me."

Andrea took both of his hands and squeezed them.

"Martinez," called Milton, turning away from Andrea, "you're with me, come on."

Tim opened the gate for them and Milton and Martinez slipped out, walking halfway through the maze of cars to wait for Hobbs to bring one of the hostages out to meet them. A guard broke from the trees, marching Wes toward Milton and Martinez. Wes's hands were tied behind his back, but he looked unharmed. When there was about four feet between the two parties, the guard stopped.

"Are you all okay?" asked Milton.

"Oh, yeah, we're fine," said Wes sardonically.

"We're doing everything we can to resolve this—"

"If that was the case, you'd have your people back by now and we'd be inside those walls, Sunshine," said the guard.

"You know you're not going to give up the entire town for four of us," Wes told Milton. "And they wouldn't let you either. They'd chuck you over the wall for suggesting it. And even if you did give it all up, you're not saving anyone. People will get hurt and die and be worse off than if you'd put the bullets in us yourselves. If you can save only a few of us, don't let it be me."

"As selfless as that is, we're not leaving you behind," said Milton. "The others don't have some sort of higher status or value than you do."

"The others don't have cancer," said Wes bitterly, and as Milton exchanged looks with Martinez, he could see that this was news to him as well. How long had Wes known that he had cancer? What stage was he in? How long did he have? Was it curable? Did Tate know? Did anyone else?

"He doesn't know," said Wes in answer to their expressions. "Don't tell him. So do what you have to, but don't keep these bastards waiting and don't make us suffer for it."

"You say that now, pretty boy, but you'll beg for your life when it's time," said the guard.

Ignoring him, Wes turned meaningfully to Milton. "You tell my brother to keep a level head and not do anything stupid because it's not worth it. You keep him in your sight for as long as this goes on and tell him that he's going to be just fine. Do that for me, will you?"

"Of course."

"Which one's your brother?" asked the guard, scanning the walltop. "Oh, wait, he's the one with the blonde ponytail, isn't he? He's cute. Does he like dick?"

"Hey, fuck you, asshole," said Wes.

The guard punched Wes in the stomach and Martinez went for his gun, but Milton called him off.

"No, if you react, you put them all in danger!"

"Smart man," complimented the guard. "Well, I guess that'll do it for this little talk. Have a nice day, gents. And as for you," the guard shook Wes by the top of his head, pulling out a few of Wes's hairs as he did so, "I hope _you_ like dick."

"If you harm any of our people, all hopes of negotiating go right out the window," said Milton in a tone much braver than he felt. "We won't even consider a peaceful resolution if any of our people are injured."

The guard smirked and shook his head. "Then you might as well give up right now, Sunshine."


	15. Chapter 15: A Town Divided

**ANDREA**

"They've only got sixteen people."

"That you saw."

"They would have shown their full force to intimidate us if they had more."

"Even if that is their full force, they're armed as heavily as ninety percent of _our_ force."

"I say we send out a covert team to try and free the hostages."

"But we only have until sundown, so how do you plan on sneaking four hostages out of a hostile guarded camp in broad daylight, dumbass?"

"I'm just weighing out options here, don't get snarky—"

"Don't get stupid—"

"Piss off—"

"Go fu—"

"Alright, _enough_!" shouted Milton, pressing his hands over his ears to blot out the noise of the arguing council which consisted of himself, Andrea, Guerrero, Tate, Elliot, Erica, and a few other townsfolk to represent those not in Woodbury's military. The debate over what to do about the hostages had escalated to a near fisticuffs when Mr. Devins who was the town's dentist started pitching out wild ideas and Guerrero shot them down just as quickly, getting more and more irritated with each suggestion.

Andrea had tried listening to the suggestions at first, but when she realized that no one besides Guerrero had ever actually experienced a hostage situation, and therefore knew nothing about the terms and even less about the normal outcome for the hostages, she gave up and decided to try and work the situation out in her head. This proved difficult with Mr. Devins yelling in one ear and Guerrero swearing in the other so that she was rather thankful when Milton brought his fist down.

"Will you all please take into consideration the fact that there are people here trying to actually come up with an acceptable plan and not prove that they have the biggest gonads at the table?"

Mr. Devins looked offended, but Andrea could see that Milton couldn't have cared less who he had insulted.

"What do we do then?" asked the dentist testily.

"If we open fire on them, they'll kill the hostages. If we don't do anything, they'll torture the hostages in the hopes of getting us to open the gates until they're all dead and then they'll come at us in full force once they don't have anything left to barter with. If we open the gates, we all die."

Guerrero rolled his eyes. "That's what you've been working on this whole time? That's some acceptable plan right there."

"We have one more option: wait for the Governor to return," said Aisling, one of the community garden planters and harvesters.

"And what good's that going to do? He took four men with him; what's four men, five including the Governor, against Hobbs's people?" asked Erica.

Tate nudged Milton and held up his whiteboard. _Ask Hobbs for more time_.

"We're trying our luck already in asking until the evening to come up with a decision," said Milton with a sad shake of his head.

"Hobbs knows damn well that we're not gonna open that gate for him, and after the sun sets and we're still closed up in here, he'll execute the hostages anyway and then he'll have nothing to bargain with except the fact that he's on the outside and we're behind the walls. Then it's just a matter of him starving us out," said Elliot in a statement that left them all stunned at its finality.

Andrea could see no way out for the four hostages, but she couldn't admit that it had come to this. Something could be done, there _had_ to be something. There was always one option left uncovered, revealed at the last second.

Tate wrote: _I can send message to Wes when they bring out hostages._

"No," said Milton firmly. "Wes wants you to stay off of the walls and keep calm. As a personal favor, you're not allowed on the walls until this is sorted."

Tate made a violent motion with his hands and Andrea didn't need to know sign language to guess that he was swearing. He nearly broke his whiteboard in half as he jammed the marker tip to the surface and scribbled: _That's my brother. If you don't do something to help him, I will._

Andrea was watching Guerrero's reaction to Tate and saw pain flash across his face at Tate's proclamation. He then stood up and leaned across the table to the roughly drawn map of the town and the surrounding streets that Milton had sketched.

"They've got a sniper here, so there's no way we're getting out the front gate without being detected. I scouted around the town and watched for other snipers, but didn't spot any, though they've got eyes on the back wall and the hole in the fence where the biters got in. There's a few other ways out of the town here, here, and here," Guerrero pointed them out on the map, "and I can get in and out of those spots at any time of the day or night and no one can see me. Buy me some time and I can get into their camp, grab a hostage or two, and be back in Woodbury before the bastards ever knew what happened."

"You pull shit like that and Hobbs will kill whoever you didn't grab right there," said Elliot.

"Hey, back off. You're telling me that it's better to have all the hostages shot in front of the gates where everyone can see rather than try to save one or two of them?"

"I'm saying it's not moral to choose which of them lives or dies," Elliot corrected. "Fletcher, Wes, Aaron, and Raeanne are all equally important to the town, but we can't choose which of them gets to live and which ones have to take the fall."

"Maybe you can't, but I can," said Guerrero savagely.

"We've been over this; no hostage comes back inside unless we open the doors for all of them and they're too heavily guarded to try and sneak a covert team out to retrieve them," said Milton wearily, taking off his glasses and rubbing at his eyes.

"Screw that, man, Wes is one of the only friends I've got in here and he deserves better than to have other people weigh the worth of his life. Heavily guarded or not, I'm going in there and just see if I don't bring at least two of them back," said Guerrero in his tone of zero tolerance for anyone's arguments to stop him.

"You're not fit to make this decision because you're emotionally compromised," said Milton coldly and Guerrero gave a nod before his left hand shot out and punched Milton in the eye.

Andrea grabbed Guerrero's right arm and Elliot took his left, but Guerrero had already ceased fighting back, shooting Milton the middle finger before stomping off to do God-knows-what.

"Tate, Erica, go catch up to him and make sure he doesn't do anything stupid," Andrea advised before dismissing the rest of the council. She tucked loose strands of hair back behind her ears as she gathered up the papers Milton and the others had scribbled on. Milton, however, was replacing his glasses with less-than-steady hands, squinting through his eye as it began to swell.

"You really pushed your boundaries there," said Andrea observantly. "I could have told you that he'd deck you if you talked to him like that."

"I'm just glad I didn't have my glasses on when he did, otherwise I'd be partially blind."

"Milton—"

"Though I suppose any pair of glasses I happen to find can replace my lenses if they _do_ get broken."

"Mil—ton…"

"And furthermore, I won't be able to see out of my right eye for a while until the bruising goes down."

"Stop," said Andrea loudly, planting her hands on Milton's shoulders and forcing him to sit. Milton removed his glasses again, tossing them onto the table without concern and placing his face in his hands.

"I can't do it. This isn't a decision I can make on my own and I shouldn't have to. These people's lives aren't my responsibility. Who in their right mind would put someone else's life in my hands? What the hell am I supposed to do, Andrea? I'm not a military strategist; I'm a scientist, and even now, I'm not sure I can pull off that part of my resume anymore. This is Phillip's area of expertise, not mine. I'm not qualified, I don't have the knowledge—"

"Merle does," said Andrea before Milton could get going on another tangent. "He's the best chance we have right now of getting the hostages back. I'll go speak with him and see if he and Guerrero can come up with something for us."

"Guerrero is emotionally compromised—"

Andrea was starting to lose her patience with Milton, nevermind how helpless he felt at the moment. Woodbury needed a leader right now and with the brawn side of their two-man team out of commission for the time being, they had to rely on someone, and that someone was the brains of the operation, which left no wiggle room for Milton to start doubting himself and leave Woodbury's fate up in the air.

"You say that in earshot of him again and he'll give you another black eye and some broken bones. You just don't get it because you don't have anyone like they do. You know people, but answer me honestly right now; is there anyone in this town who you would take a bullet for? Is there anyone who means enough to you that you'd be willing to throw everyone else's life in jeopardy just to save them?"

Milton opened his mouth, but no words came out.

"That's what I thought. You don't have the right to be talking to people like you have been when you don't understand what Guerrero, Tate, and the others are going through. You don't know what it's like to lose someone like that or to be on the verge of losing them and wanting to do something, but not being able to."

"That's not a fair assessment. I've lost people—acquaintances."

"Who the hell goes out of their way to save acquaintances? Wake up, Milton, this is happening right now and we have less than four hours before sunset where you'll need to make a decision that could potentially cost four people their lives. You told me that Wes and the others had decided that their lives aren't worth the town's and you have the town saying that all of us aren't worth the lives of those four hostages. It's a stalemate, which means that the person in charge needs to make the final decision, and like it or not, that decision is yours because Phillip isn't here and even if he was, I don't think he'd make the right one."

She could see that Milton was going to try and say something to defend the Governor, but she wouldn't let him.

"No, he wouldn't and you damn well know it. You need to think about what you're going to say to Hobbs. I'm going to go talk to Merle."

"Merle doesn't give a shit about Woodbury or its people," said Milton.

"Then why did he beat Wade half to death?" Andrea challenged.

Milton had no answer for her.

/ /

Andrea knew that she had probably looked much worse when Merle found her and Michonne hiding in the bushes a few yards from the helicopter crash, but that didn't make her feel any better about Merle's current appearance. He was lying on his side when Andrea checked in on him and his bedsheets were stained in a puddle of sweat. Someone had been in to place a battery-powered fan by his head, but it wasn't enough to keep him cool. Milton had said that Merle was ill, but Andrea wasn't prepared for this, especially not when the town needed Merle more than ever.

As she approached his bedside, she could smell the ruminating body odor on him and had to work hard not to gag. She touched her fingers to his forehead to check his temperature.

"How do you feel?"

"Oh, I'm just fuckin' fantastic, Blondie, how you doin'?" asked Merle, cracking a small smile before clutching his stomach from some unknown pain and pounding his fist against the mattress.

"The council couldn't come up with a decision, so at this point, it's whatever Milton decides," said Andrea hopelessly. "So I guess you could say that I'm feeling just as fantastic as you."

"And what d'you want me t'do about it?"

Andrea threw up her hands in a hopeless gesture. "I don't know, Merle, talk to him, give him some other options, tell him what he wants to hear, just don't let him fuck everything up."

"People're gonna die tonight, sweetheart," coughed Merle. "Ain't no gettin' around that. Fletcher knows it, Wes knows it, and they've made their peace. Y'gotta accept that y'can't save everyone."

"It's easy for you to give up on people, isn't it?" Andrea snapped.

"It is when you've been given up on your whole life. Woodbury's army's made've hard asses; Governor told us all that we bite the bullet if it puts the town in danger. That's an easy thing t'do when y'know how t'kill."

"You killed Wade, didn't you?"

Merle either didn't have the energy to confront her and call her a liar, or he just didn't care, but either way, he said nothing.

"Tell me, have you ever killed anyone without the Governor telling you to pull the trigger? Have you ever consciously taken someone's life even when that person never did anything to hurt you?"

Merle rolled to the other side of the bed and spat out what looked like phlegm-filled saliva before rolling back to answer her. "First one I killed inside the walls. First one've our own who wasn't already dyin' or bitten."

"Was it premeditated?"

"Yeah," said Merle, and Andrea tried to tell herself that the look she saw in his face wasn't regret, but what else could it be?

"You feel guilty, don't you? You feel remorse for killing him."

"Fuck, no," said Merle. "I just—I knew I had to. I didn't wanna, but it had t'be done. I didn't get no pleasure out've doin' it, but I wasn't sorry for it either. Wade was a snivellin' piece've shit, an' he deserved what he got, but it was just doin' it in the way I done it—to any human being—it felt wrong."

If he hadn't said the words aloud, Andrea would never have believed it. Merle actually had a conscience. He had always known the difference between right and wrong, but he chose to toe the line or completely ignore it, and yet he was suffering mentally because killing Wade—while the best thing for the town—had eaten away at a piece of his soul. He recognized that what he had done was not something to take pride in and not something to forget. His sin for doing it would be to keep it with him for the rest of his life. He had knowingly and willingly taken a human life in a situation that didn't absolutely call for said human to die, and that was a ghost that would haunt him forever. And perhaps that was why he was so ill now; his body wasn't used to feeling remorse for his actions because it was easier to lie to himself and tell himself that what he was doing was for the greater good. The fact that his body recognized the change in its master's morals and made him sick for it was proof that the Governor hadn't completely manipulated him.

"There may yet be hope for you, then," said Andrea. "I'll check back in on you before Hobbs brings up the hostages."

"Don'tchoo let them bastards in," said Merle, coughing and wincing as his chest heaved. "Ain't no number've hostages worth sellin' this place out, no matter who the hostages are."

 _But then again, maybe not._


	16. Chapter 16: Out of Commission

**MERLE**

 _Merle heard him fumbling with the lock on the door, pounding on the abused wood as he roared at Merle to unlock the door and let him in so that Merle could get his ass whupped. Leaping to his feet, Merle ran to the kitchen and grabbed a knife from the cutlery drawer, stuffing it into his pocket, snatching up the phone from the dock on the counter, and ringing up the emergency hotline._

 _"_ 911, what's your emergency?"

 _"My dad's drunk and he's tryin' t'hurt me'n my baby brother. 8021 Lincoln Avenue. Hurry, he's got a knife."_

 _Merle hung up, made his way down the hall, and hammered on his mother's bedroom door._

 _"Ma?"_

 _No answer came from within. He turned the knob and found his mother passed out cold on the bed as the smell of stale cigarettes and whiskey hit his nose. Merle reached around the door and turned the lock, hoping that if his father burst into the room, he would see that Merle's mother was unconscious and leave her be._

 _Dashing back into the hall, Merle ran for his and Daryl's bedroom and switched on the light as the pounding from the front door grew louder. Daryl sat up in his bed, rubbing his knuckles into his eyes._

 _"What's wrong?" he asked._

 _"Shut up," snapped Merle. "Come with me, c'mon!"_

 _Daryl gave him a pouty look and was about to lay back down when Merle grabbed him by his oversized bedshirt and dragged him toward the trapdoor under the living room rug. It used to be a room dedicated to hiding illegal substances, but since the cops were coming around every week, Merle's father couldn't very well horde such things. Now, it would serve as Daryl's hiding place._

 _Merle half-carried his five-year-old brother down the steps and told him to crawl as far back under the floorboards as he could and wait for Merle to come get him. Daryl had a fit, complaining that he was tired and wanted to go back to bed._

 _"Shut up," said Merle again. "Y'listen good, Daryl. Dad's real mean right now and he'll hitcha if y'don't keep quiet. Don't make no noise. I'll come getcha soon as Dad calms down, a'ight?"_

 _"I don't wanna sit down here, dammit!" cursed Daryl._

 _With more pressing matters than reprimanding his little brother for swearing, Merle clouted him upside the head with Daryl's stuffed hippo. "Y'keep quiet like I toldja. Y'don't want Dad t'make you hurt, do ya?"_

 _Daryl shook his head, rubbing the spot on his head indignantly._

 _"Then just shut the hell up and stay here. Not one peep, unnerstand? Do like I said an' I'll buy ya some candy after I come getcha. Deal?"_

 _"Deal," said Daryl eagerly._

 _"Merle, y'little son've a bitch, open the goddamn door!"_

 _Merle put a finger to his lips and whispered "Shhhh," before he climbed back up the steps, closed the trapdoor, kicked the worn rug over it, and dragged the coffee table over that. He just had time to stuff the knife up his sleeve when the door burst open and Merle's father barged in, livid in the face._

 _"I toldja t'open the fuckin' door."_

 _"Yeah, like that was gonna happen with your drunken ass screamin' bloody murder for half the neighborhood t'hear," retorted Merle._

 _Merle's father picked up the lamp from beside the couch and threw it at Merle who dropped to the floor in order to avoid the brunt of the attack. He leaped to his feet and put the armchair between himself and his father._

 _"Ungrateful piece've shit, that's what y'are," the old man slurred. "Get out, and don't you fuckin' come back!" He turned toward Merle's mother's room and began kicking at the door. "Marlene! Marlene, y'open this door! I know y'got that little bastard in there with you!"_

 _Merle had no great sense of love for his mother, but he couldn't stand here and let his father attempt to assault her. He latched onto his father's shirt and pulled him back, but the latter was brutishly strong and decked Merle in a far faster reaction that Merle could have anticipated. Merle's father kicked him in the stomach and then seizing him by the collar, began to pummel Merle's face. Gnarled hands found Merle's throat, but before he could give his father a chance to start throttling him, he wriggled the knife out from his sleeve and stabbed the older man in the arm with it._

 _Merle's father yelped like a kicked dog and backed away momentarily, allowing Merle to come to his knees and brandish the blood-stained knife._

 _"Try that again, motherfucker," he challenged._

 _They both heard sirens outside and wincing at the thought of what was to come, Merle slashed the blade across his own cheek before throwing the knife to the ground. Police burst through the open door and ordered both Merle and his father on their knees. They assessed the damage done to Merle's face and picked up the bloody knife to examine it. After concluding that Merle's father had been the one to draw the knife and attack Merle, they carted him off in a squad car despite the old man's insistence that Merle had been the one to draw steel. His alibi meant nothing since half of Merle's face had been savaged and was now being tended to by on-site paramedics._

 _Merle was questioned about Daryl and his mother and insisted that he had sent Daryl to a friend's house just before their father busted in, but chose to remain behind and protect their unconscious mother. The next few hours were a haze to Merle with only flittering images present in his trunk of memories, but he did remember opening the trap door at five in the morning after the cops had left and Merle had had a chance to drop by the convenience store._

 _"Daryl?" he called down into the darkness._

 _Daryl crawled out of a pile of timbers on his hands and knees, hugging his hippo to his chest as he squinted up at Merle._

 _"Is Dad still mad at us?"_

 _"Naw, he's gone away for a while so that he won't get mad all the time. C'mon up, I gotcha something'."_

 _Daryl's face brightened and he tripped up the steps in his eagerness to get out of the cellar. Once Merle had put everything back into place, he handed Daryl a paper bag full of assorted pieces of candy and gum. He'd spent money he didn't have to get his little brother that treat, not that his mother would notice a few dollars missing with how she was always in a stupor of subdued drunkenness._

 _"Your face is lots've colors," Daryl observed, digging around in the bag for the baseball card that came with his gum._

 _"No shit. Go siddown on the couch and watch_ Sesame Street _."_

 _Daryl was only too willing to comply, switching the television set on. The last channel had been one of Merle's father's favorites, war documentaries, and the sounds of gunfire erupted around Merle._

Merle sat up in bed, reaching for the pistol on his bedside table, but a hand intercepted him before he could grab it.

"Take it easy, dude, no one's in danger yet."

Merle groaned and felt motion in his stomach, rolling quickly to the other side of the bed to puke so that he wouldn't splatter Guerrero. Wiping his mouth, he turned back over and saw that his visitors extended to Milton, Andrea, Erica, Elliot, and Martinez. Uncomfortably aware that he was not only vulnerable right now, but also half naked and violently ill, he didn't take too kindly to his waking up party.

"Y'all lookin' t'die from disease?"

"You're not dying," said Milton. "Doctor Stephens looked in on you while you were asleep and concluded that you've simply caught a bug, but that your body's defenses are low right now due to a variety of factors that could be anything from emotional and mental trauma to anxiety, especially given our current situation."

Merle caught Andrea's eye ever so briefly, but she said nothing relating to the discussion the two of them had had earlier about this very thing.

"She thinks you'll be fine in a day or two once your system rids itself of the toxins. In the meantime, you won't be seeing any action, and given that we're supposed to make a decision that could decide the town's fate in a little over an hour, that puts us in a bit of a slump. We need to consider all possibilities and the only one that we can agree to disagree on is allowing Guerrero here to slip out and try to re-abduct some of the hostages."

"And why not let him go? He's the only one here capable _and_ willing to do it," said Erica in her boyfriend's defense.

"That's not gonna work, babe. I already snuck out to scope out their camp and they've got the hostages tied up right in the center so that I couldn't get to them even if I ran for it."

"You already…dammit, Guerrero, did it ever occur to you that you might have compromised the hostages if Hobbs's people saw you?" said Martinez.

"It occurred, yeah, but nobody saw me," said Guerrero confidently. "And it gave me an idea. Hobbs has three lieutenants, one of them's always with the hostages and the other two are in that main group that came up to the gate. They don't stand near him so that no one will know who they are, but including them, there's less than twenty of those bastards all together. We have the numbers to beat them if that happens and the firepower, but the only way we stand a chance is to take out Hobbs and his lieutenants before he gets a chance to shoot the hostages. The rest of his people are ruthless, but they need a leader or they'd be chickens running around with their heads cut off. If we can get to Hobbs and the other three, we can turn the situation in our favor, but the problem is taking care of them all at once."

Merle could tell by the looks on everyone else's faces that they weren't sold on the idea, but he thought it was actually rather brilliant. After all, Guerrero was the assassin; he knew who to eliminate, how, and why.

"He's right," said Merle, still tasting bile in the back of his throat. "Take out the leader and the followers'll panic just long enough for somebody t'grab the hostages while the rest've y'all open fire and light their asses up. Have an escape route set up at the wall so y'all can jump over, grab Fletcher'n the others, an' get hauled back up. But don't open the gate or them bastards might go kamikaze and make a run for it."

"We'd have to put them all down at once, otherwise the next person in charge will order the execution to proceed," said Milton. "And we won't have a clear shot at them until they've lined themselves up again—if they do."

"That doesn't leave us much wiggle room to get to the hostages before something happens," Andrea observed.

"You got a better plan, dude?"

"I'm just saying that there's an awful lot of 'ifs' in this plan—"

"Dude, we don't have the option to be picky. You guys shot down my other idea and I was still gonna go through with it, but then I saw how bad of a situation this is, so this is our only option."

"Would you please use my actual name?"

"Sure, dude."

"So here's what y'all are gonna do," said Merle to diffuse the argument before it could get going much further. "Y'find the best shots in our army and station 'em at the highest vantage points that face the front gate. Milton's gonna be up there talkin' to the Big Hoss, so when he calls it, the snipers've all gotta take out the leader and his lieutenants at the same time. There'll be chaos after, so snipers keep pickin' off bodies while the rest've y'all send in some people t'grab the hostages, like I said. Have the wall guard provide cover fire."

"That's a messy plan," said Elliot. "Especially since we aren't exactly a band of sharpshooters."

"Well, I'd volunteer, but I'm seein' double right now, jackass, so make do with whatcha got."

"I'm a good shot," said Erica. "I'll set up on the east side roof."

"I'll take the west," said Martinez.

"I've got Hobbs," said Guerrero.

They turned to Andrea, Milton, and Elliot who all shrugged.

"Don't look at me, man, I can't fire a rifle worth shit," said Elliot, motioning at his bad arm.

"I'm not the best shot myself," said Andrea, and for some reason, she gave Merle an apologetic look.

"Three snipers, four targets," mused Merle, laying back on his sweaty sheets to think. It was imperative to take out the leader first, which was why Guerrero would be tasked with doing the honors, but they needed to take out all authoritative forces; they couldn't leave anything to chance. It took precision and careful calculation to zone in on an enemy from a distance, taking into account wind, air pressure, the drop of the bullet from the moment it exited the barrel. And in the worst case scenario, whoever was left standing would order for the hostages to be brutalized in front of the whole town or else dragged off to be tortured and murdered elsewhere. That couldn't be allowed to happen on account of two things: one, it would send the town into a complete state of disarray and panic and two, euthanasia would be kinder.

"I've got a question for you, Guerrero; how good've a shot are ya really?"

"The best you could hope for, why?"

"How's your reload time?"

Guerrero understood what Merle was asking and confirmed with a jerk of his head. "For sure, dude."

"For sure what?" asked Milton.

"Don't worry 'bout it," said Merle swiftly. "You just concentrate on talkin' nice to the son've a bitch outside the walls."


	17. Chapter 17: The Real World

**MILTON**

"This is the worst idea in the long, sad history of stupid ideas conceived by mankind," said Milton nervously as Andrea and Elliot helped run the wire up through his shirt and out the back of his collar so that he could wear his earpiece without Hobbs knowing. Deciding that it would look suspicious and completely negate their efforts to use snipers if Hobbs saw Milton talking on a radio during the final negotiations, Elliot had suggested that with their limited technological resources, they conceal Milton's walkie-talkie down his pant leg and put a contraption through his sleeve that would run to and operate the microphone concealed just inside the front of his collar. Milton hated the idea, so of course, he was overruled, and now had to stand completely still as Andrea and Elliot smoothed down his clothes to conceal the wires running underneath. With his right leg, right arm, torso, and collarbone all in contact with the wires, Milton was starting to feel more like one of his experiments and less like a freewill individual.

" _You know, it helps to not be nervous if you don't_ _look like you're about to rob a damn bank, dude_ ," said Guerrero over Milton's earpiece.

"Are you in position?" asked Milton, activating the talk button on his radio through the contraption hooked to his sleeve and looking around to try and spot Guerrero from down on the street.

" _Duh, and lemme tell you something, Milts, you've got a look on your face right now that's bait for half-assed cops at a teen jewelry store. You're giving off all the wrong signals and you're_ looking _for me, so cut it out. You wanna give us away before Hobbs even brings out the hostages? Just keep your eyes on him and let us worry about the rest."_

"I still don't see why it's necessary to go through with all of this-this mumbojumbo," said Milton helplessly as he gestured at himself, knowing that Guerrero could see him.

" _Hobbs will have eyes on you and we already know he's got a sniper out there too, so you gotta keep your right ear turned away from them or they'll pick up the earpiece on you,"_ said Martinez.

"Just don't look guilty," said Andrea, stepping back to admire hers and Elliot's handiwork.

"Oh, come on, you know how ludicrous this is," said Milton in a last-ditch attempt to change the plan that placed him in the driver's seat. "I can't lie worth a damn and if Hobbs has eyes on me, his sniper will tell him how anxious I look and they'll know something's wrong."

"You don't have to worry about being shot as long as you keep most of your body behind the tires," said Elliot.

"I'm not worried about being shot, but the fact that I have an abysmal poker face has me slightly concerned."

Elliot gave Milton a mild slap across the face. "Keep it together and man the hell up. This isn't trying to keep a secret from someone because they'll get a hissy fit if they find out the truth; this is a matter of saving the lives of four people. All you have to do is keep your goddamn face straight while they're out there with guns to their head, so quit your pussyfooting and do your job."

If Milton had anything to say, he would have said it with indignation, but Elliot was absolutely right and it only made Milton feel more cowardly for admitting it. He'd already revealed himself to be incapable of handling situations like these without someone else's assistance; that was apparent in his plea to Merle to help him when all other options had failed them. Milton was not yet ready to lead Woodbury, nor did he think he would ever be ready because it wasn't in his nature to take the lead when he served a better purpose offering advice from the side. He didn't know enough about people to even pretend to know what was best for them, which was typically what a leader did, and which was why Milton almost wished for Phillip to return.

Almost.

Milton hadn't forgotten how Phillip had cast him into the lion's den in the hopes of killing Michonne and then blatantly lied about it when Milton confronted him. Milton accepted that he was weaker than he should be and that he had a lot of room to grow in both physical and emotional confidence, but he wasn't stupid, even if he was naive when it came to admitting his own faults and the faults of the few people he considered friends—if they even _could_ be considered friends. The more time he spent with Merle and the other soldiers, the less inclined he felt to show loyalty to Phillip. And despite their current situation, Milton didn't think that having Phillip here would be a morale booster to anyone. True, Phillip was a warrior, but he had cast a shadow over the town and his absence had brought a shimmer of light back that Milton couldn't explain.

Phillip had given the townsfolk a sense of security, but he also made them uneasy about breaking any rules and Milton had experienced what sort of savagery Phillip was capable of when he figured out why Merle had shot Elliot, why no one told Phillip the truth about what really happened with Michonne. Phillip was dangerous and unpredictable and he would sacrifice anything to prove a point and establish his role as the head of Woodbury. The town feared for their safety, but they also knew that Milton was pragmatic and wouldn't allow his emotions to get in the way of the most logical and desired outcome. If he hadn't already been shot down by Guerrero and the majority of the council, there would be no jumping over the wall to save the hostages, no gambling with the town's safety to save four people who had selflessly agreed to die if it meant protecting their people. If their last wishes were to defy Hobbs, Milton wasn't one to stop them, as long as it kept the town safe.

And in that regard, maybe Milton _was_ more like Phillip than he originally thought. Maybe Milton's approach to this hostage situation was more or less what Phillip would do, but where Phillip would insist that it was an attempt to honor the hostages who nobly gave their lives for a greater cause while simply finding it useless to waste resources on four people, Milton's own investment in the situation was that he was trying to find the most humane way possible of allowing four people to die for the sake of the many.

"Don't dwell on it," said Andrea, checking the rounds in Milton's pistol and handing it to him. "All you have to do is talk to Hobbs and then duck down once the shooting starts. Give a hand where you can, but don't try to be the hero."

Milton didn't know if Andrea was mocking him, but he decided to voice his concerns with her statement in the hopes that she would clarify. "We both know that the term 'hero' and my name do not belong in the same sentence."

"I meant bravado. Don't do anything more than you think you're capable of. If you want to shoot, shoot, but do it from a safe place where you won't become a liability."

"Oh, yes, that's a much better explanation. I feel especially reassured now."

Andrea raised an eyebrow at him. "If that was sarcasm, it worked well, but I don't appreciate you using it right now. I'm telling you to take the safe option, not the noble one, because you're not ready. You can't even put walkers down on your own, so how do you expect to kill living humans?"

"I've put a biter or two down," said Milton resentfully. "And I think that killing mindless biters is more or less the same as killing humans who want to kill me. Both are dangerous and neither are acceptable, so if it comes down to it, I can kill. I'm not a coward."

"I didn't say that. I said that you're weak, inexperienced, a novice. I said you don't _know_ how, not that you _can't_."

" _Get your ass up there, dude, Hobbs is coming out of the trees."_

Milton left his response to Andrea hanging as he started up the ramp. "Are we good to go?" he asked, suddenly finding that his lips were very dry and his throat in much need of some water.

" _Ready_ ," said Erica.

" _All set,_ " came Martinez's voice.

" _Ready when you are, dude_ ," said Guerrero.

Milton came up to a stack of tires so that his head and shoulders were visible, but the rest of him was mostly concealed. He saw Hobbs leading the hostages out at gunpoint with five of his people guarding their escape in case Fletcher or one of the others tried to make a run for it. They walked out to no-man's-land just as they had before and the hostages were forced to their knees.

"Get me eyes on them," Milton told Elliot who squinted through his binoculars to see the hostages better.

"Raeanne might have a broken nose. Fletcher's bleeding over the eye and Wes has a mouthful of blood. Aaron looks okay."

The deal had been that the hostages would be treated fairly until a decision could be made, and Milton voiced his anger at Hobbs's breach of their agreement.

"We agreed that no harm would come to the hostages," he called out.

"It was also agreed that my prisoners remain prisoners until I decided to give them up, but three of them tried to make a run for it and had to be punished accordingly," Hobbs responded.

"That wasn't—" began Milton, but Andrea nudged him in the ribs with a look that said, _Don't antagonize him_. Swallowing his retort, Milton adjusted his answer into the form of a question. "For the sake of repetition, what will you settle for in exchange for the hostages?"

"Open your gates, lay down your arms, let us do whatever the hell we want," said Hobbs plainly. "My demands haven't changed."

"And did it occur to you that demanding that we lay down our arms and allow you to pillage our town, most likely murdering and assaulting in the process, is not something that many of us take kindly to?"

Hobbs laughed without humor, picking at a spot in his teeth with his knife, which was a long, serrated piece of formidable steel. His calm, laid back demeanor suggested to Milton that he'd been in this situation before and gotten his way, but when the resources ran out, his people had moved on. How many people had died because of this man?

"You'd be stupid to take kindly to these demands, Sunshine. No one who's given in has ever done so with a smile on their face, but they've done it all the same because they're like you; they've got a weakness for human lives. You care too much about your people to even think about letting them go and then a situation like this happens where you're forced to decide between a few people and the masses and you can't bring yourself to do it, so you give in. That's why you'll open those gates for me. You couldn't live with yourself if you let me shoot these four _good people_ down in front of you. You look for the good in all people and when you let me into your town, you'll hope and pray that I'm merciful and only take what I need before turning tail and disappearing over the hill, but this isn't a fucking fantasy, Sunshine. This is the real world, the real, shitty, dirty, cruel world, and you don't understand how it works."

"This is it," said Andrea. "He's going to give you the order and if you don't do it right as he says, he'll shoot."

"Snipers ready?" asked Milton, trying not to move his lips.

Guerrero, Erica, and Martinez sounded off.

"Now, we both know that you aren't about to let me commit murder on your front lawn when you have the option of saving these people, so why don't you come to grips with re-fucking-ality and open the gate?"

Hobbs turned his assault rifle on the hostages, pacing in front of them as if trying to decide who he'd kill first if Milton didn't comply.

" _Call it, dude,_ " prompted Guerrero.

"What's it going to be, Sunshine?"

Milton's heart beat a tattoo against his chest. He couldn't see their faces, but he knew that all four of his people were watching him, praying that he didn't open the gates, but secretly, desperately wishing for one selfish moment deep down that he would save them.

"Call it," said Andrea, lifting her automatic up to her chest in prepartation. "Milton, do it _now_."

Tate tugged insistently at Milton's sleeve and even though Milton wouldn't turn to look him, he knew what he would see there on his friend's face. Tate was terrified that in the next few seconds, he would lose his brother and he was desperate to prevent that. He didn't know that Milton had set up snipers because the fewer people who were let in on the secret, the less chance there was of Hobbs sensing that he was about to be double-played.

"Do you have him?" Milton asked Guerrero.

" _Got him, dude._ "

Hobbs had chosen his first victim and put his rifle to Aaron's head.

"Milton!" shouted Andrea.

Guerrero took the initiative and fired before Milton could give the order, pinning Hobbs dead center in the forehead, but for all of his fast sniping action, he couldn't prevent the bullet that entered Aaron's temple from the side as a reaction of Hobbs getting hit. The bullet's report reverberated in Milton's ribs as Aaron's lifeless form crumpled and landed on top of Hobbs. The woman behind Wesley and the man on Fletcher's side both went down a second later and following them, Milton saw a body fall from the trees off to the right, confirming that Guerrero had taken out the third lieutenant.

"Open fire!" Milton hollered, dropping to his knees as the wall came alive with gunfire from Woodbury's twenty-odd soldiers. The people selected as hostage retrievers went to jump the wall, but Hobbs's people returned fire and everyone had to duck down to avoid the sudden onslaught of bullets. Milton waited for the gunfire to cease as Hobbs's people reloaded, but no halt came and Milton heard Guerrero swear in his ear.

" _They've got you pinned down, dude. They're taking turns firing at you, half and half so that you can't come up for air. I can try to keep them off the wall, but they know I'm staked out now and they're moving smart-like through the cars, coming up on you fast. They're going to try and scale the walls, so be ready._ "

"Defend the walls, they're coming over!" shouted Milton, pressing one hand to his right ear as Andrea lifted her automatic and fired blindly over the tires. No sooner had he given the command that he saw a grappling hook fly over the tires and latch onto the metal scaffolding.

"Cut the lines!" Elliot roared.

Milton went to draw his knife, but saw a shadow blot out the setting sun as a man with the fastest climbing skills Milton had ever seen rose up over the tire towers. Only faintly aware of the pistol at his belt, Milton reacted too late as the man swung at him with a machete. Elliot leaped in front of Milton and raised his rifle with both hands to block the strike of the much larger man. Despite the unreliability of his damaged arm, it held, allowing him to shove the butt end of his rifle into the other man's gut, twist the nozzle around, and shoot the man at point-blank range. He then went to one of the grappling hooks and sliced through the rope before jumping off of the wall to run to Fletcher and Raeanne who Milton could see were trying to take cover amidst the car graveyard.

In the chaos, Milton wanted nothing more than to shrink against the tires and pray for it all to be over, but as he held his hands over his head to shield it from flying debris, his fingers brushed the healing cut on his neck. A souvenir of inexperience, of obliviousness, of cowardice. He'd earned his first scar by being an absolute blockhead and he could almost hear Merle hollering in his ear to get his ass up and start _doing something_.

Milton drew his knife and sawed through the rope connected to the grappling hook beside his knee. He tucked his knife away and switched it out for his pistol, rising up and preparing to offer cover fire when he saw another man mount the wall and dive for Andrea who was already locked in combat with another woman. The man grabbed Andrea's ponytail, yanking her head back so that she shrieked in pain and attempted to fight him off.

Milton's hands were unsteady; he knew he couldn't make an accurate shot. He threw himself against the man and the two of them knocked over one of the towers, opening a space for them to lose their balance. The man groped for a handhold in thin air and latched onto Milton's shirt. In the split seconds of free-fall, Milton could only think something along the lines of, _damn it all to hell, not_ again, before he hit the ground, cushioned only slightly by the man underneath him. The respite didn't last long as the man went for his knife and tried to drive it down into Milton's throat, but Milton crossed his arms at the wrists to block the attack, feeling his underdeveloped muscles straining to keep his attacker at bay. The knife began sinking closer and closer to Milton's skin and he felt the prick of a thousand needles as his life's worst memories came flooding back into him in his moment of fear.

Only then did he realize that his pistol hadn't fallen from his hand when he'd toppled from the wall. He rotated his wrist as far as it would go until the nozzle was pointed at the man's cheek and when the man realized what Milton was about to do, he tried to make a quick exit, but Milton had already fired off his round. Flecks of blood splattered his glasses and a drop or two made its way up his nose so that Milton had to blow air out hard to clear his nostrils. He pushed the man's corpse off of him, hearing the ring of his pistol still in his ears.

Not ten feet away, Tate was using himself as a human shield while prompting his twin to run, but just when they neared the gate, Tate fell, taking a bullet right above his ankle. Midfall, he ushered Wes to keep moving and pivoted on his good foot. His pirouette allowed him to shoot his attacker as she ran at him from behind and both of them skidded to a halt on the pavement.

Milton knew he was acting slow, stumbling into the crossfire with his pistol held loosely at his side. He was only faintly aware of a body being thrown from the wall and landing on its head just a few feet from him. But he kept moving, ducking low as a bullet struck the car beside him and crawling the last inches to Tate. Hooking Tate's arm around his neck, Milton hauled him to his feet and started walking back toward the gate. Wes, who had waited at the bottom of one of the uncut grappling lines, relieved Milton of his brother and tied the line around Tate's belt, giving two sharp tugs so that the soldiers above would haul him up.

White-hot pain seared across Milton's arm and he spun around to see a bloodied, deranged man firing at him in a final attempt to even the odds. Milton returned reactionary fire but his bullet only hit the man in the forearm. The man raised his arm to shoot again and then his eye exploded in a burst of red. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Not understanding, Milton looked up at the wall to see who his savior was, but then he noticed the wide-open gate. And there was Merle, leaning against the gate in only his cargo pants and untied boots. He was sweating profusely and had vomit dripping down his chest, but his left arm was still extended, pointing the pistol that had taken out the deranged man's brain.

"You're welcome, dumbass," he said before promptly crumpling and passing out.


	18. Chapter 18: A Fighter

**ANDREA**

Andrea's eyes were watering from where one of Hobbs's people had yanked on her ponytail. She had a cut across her forearm from her battle with one of the nastiest, ugliest women she'd ever seen, and though Andrea had won the fight, she could still feel the woman's stink on her. She was reloading her pistol clip when she saw the gate swinging open and then came a lone gunshot. Fearing the worst, she ran down the ramp, ready to fire, but when she saw Merle's body sprawled in the gateway and Milton just beyond, she didn't stop to try and make sense of the situation. Both she and Milton reached Merle at the same time and started to drag him by his arms back into the safety of the town as Guerrero and Martinez ran up behind them to shut the gate.

"Where'd he come from?" asked Martinez, seeing who Andrea and Milton were lugging along.

"Go get Doctor Stephens," Andrea instructed.

Guerrero shouldered his rifle and did a quick examination of Merle, pushing his glasses up the brim of his sweaty nose as he peered over him. "He'll be okay. Let me know if anything changes; I'm going to scout out the surrounding area and make sure we got 'em all. Erica, you've got the wall!"

With that, Guerrero slipped out of the gate and Erica shut it behind him.

"He's burning up," said Andrea, pressing the back of her knuckles to Merle's forehead. "God, what an idiot. What did he think he was doing, coming all the way out here and opening the gate? Of all the hare-brained—"

"He shot someone down behind me," said Milton. "She was trying to kill me, but Merle got her first."

Andrea looked down at the unconscious Merle in her arms as he lay propped up in her lap. Had he really gone to all of the trouble to open the gate just to save Milton? No, he couldn't have even known Milton was on the outside. More likely, Merle had heard the gunshots from the battle and being Merle, he had to investigate, so he staggered the length of Woodbury's main street, all the while watching Andrea and the other wall guards fend off the attackers and then, when he saw that the battle had turned in Woodbury's favor, deemed it safe enough to open the gate and check for any stragglers. It was just coincidence that Milton had been about to be killed when Merle shot Milton's attacker. Either that, or Merle was delusional and had no good damn reason to open the gate.

Milton took a canteen of water from a nearby supply box and tipped some of its contents over Merle's face. On the wall behind him, Andrea saw Wes assisting Tate down the ramp as the mute twin limped on a wounded leg. Behind them came Raeanne and Fletcher who had been hauled up onto the wall during the shootout, but were in good enough condition to walk down on their own.

Presently, Martinez arrived with Doctor Stephens in tow who helped Andrea and Milton move Merle to the grass where she could examine him closer. While she worked, Erica sent a few of Woodbury's soldiers to retrieve Aaron's body and then start to double-tap and collect Hobbs's people for burning. The gate had four guards, all of whom were switching off opening and closing the gate and taking the supplies that had been scrounged off of the bodies.

"You know, the exertion on his body almost killed him," observed Dr. Stephens after about twenty minutes in which she'd taken Merle's vitals and put him on an IV.

"I thought you said that he just had a bug and that he'd be fine in a few days?"

"From all the symptoms he's exhibited, yes, he has a bug, but he's also extremely weak right now and in pain in every sense of the word. He dragged himself out of his bed, down two flights of stairs, and across the entire street to open the gate on his own and have a steady enough aim to take out a moving target. Trust me, if he'd done the slightest bit more, we'd be having an entirely different conversation right now and there'd be a white sheet over his face."

Dr. Stephens sent Milton to fetch some of the men from body-collecting duty. "I didn't want to ask for help with moving him back to his room until all that business on the other side of the wall was dealt with, but now we really should get him inside before the mosquitoes start to eat him alive."

Milton had enlisted the help of three men and then dashed off ahead to Merle's room to air the place out before the men took Merle back. Andrea, meanwhile, was met by Martinez and Guerrero at the bottom of the ramp.

"Didn't see no signs of anyone else out there. Just a few biters," said Guerrero, wiping his glasses on his shirt.

"I did a head count and we're one short. Elliot's gone," said Martinez. "Last I saw him, he was jumping over the wall to go help Fletcher and Raeanne, but neither of them said they ever saw him."

"Elliot," said Guerrero gravely. "His body's not out there from what I saw and if none of the scouts found him, I don't like to think about what happened to him. Hobbs had nineteen people including himself and we counted seventeen bodies. The two that got away could have captured him or killed him far out beyond the perimeter that I searched."

"Maybe Elliot went after them on his own."

"With one good working arm? He's not that much of a dumbass," said Guerrero.

"He's enough of a dumbass."

"We are talking about the same dumbass, aren't we? Elliot's not gonna compromise himself just to go do something heroic like track down two people when he doesn't have the supplies to be chasing them more than a mile from town. If he's gone, the reason is better than that."

"Then send out a search party for him in the morning," Andrea suggested. "But for tonight, we need to keep watch on the walls in case Hobbs had more people that he wasn't telling us about. We need to be on high alert for walkers too, because the gunfire will have rang the bell for any walker within a ten mile radius. If there gets to be too many, we'll have to draw them away from the gate. Keep me updated; if you need me, I'll be taking care of Merle while Doctor Stephens looks at Tate and the hostages."

/ /

Someone—most likely Milton—had turned Merle's CD playlist back on and opened the window so that the sounds of crickets drifted in through the screen. Andrea set the bowl of ice water and the chilled sipping cup Dr, Stephens had given her on Merle's bedside table beside his sidearm and then pulled up a chair in front of him to dab a washcloth over his head. She had been at it for only a few minutes when Merle stirred, scratching at the IV in his elbow pit.

Merle opened one bleary eye and swatted at Andrea's hand, but it was a disoriented move and his arm flopped back down on the mattress as his minimal strength gave out. His nostrils flared and he drew in a deep breath before turning his face into the sheets and muttering something unintelligible.

"What?" asked Andrea, wringing out the damp cloth.

"Hhhrrr chhhhnd mhhhr shhhhr," said Merle again.

"Will you knock it off and stop talking with your face buried in there? I can't understand you," said Andrea irritably, trying to roll Merle over so that his face was visible.

"I asked who changed m'sheets," said Merle, situating himself as comfortably as he could while Andrea continued to sponge at the sweat on his forehead. "They don't smell like ruminatin' piss no more.

"Milton did while Doctor Stephens looked you over again. If we can't get the smell out, we'll have to burn them. And if you don't stop fidgeting, we'll have to burn these sheets too, now quit it, I'm trying to bring your fever down."

Merle jutted out his lower lip in a pout, but Andrea ignored him as she wiped away the sweat every time she saw it collect and kept urging Merle to drink from the ice-filled glass of water that had been requested by Dr. Stephens to help with his fever. The generators had been sent into brief overtime to conduct enough energy to power the ice machine in the infirmary and some of that precious ice was being put to good use on Merle. He sipped at the water whenever Andrea put the straw to his lips and let her dab at his face with the ice water from the other bowl, but for the most part he kept quiet, eyes closed as his playlist restarted and Andrea heard the first few notes of some sort of prom-type ballad. His forefinger tapped ever so slightly to the rhythm.

"You know" said Andrea, cutting into the second chorus, "Doctor Stephens said you almost killed yourself in the effort."

"Damn, so close," said Merle, though it sounded half-hearted.

"Oh, shut up, you weren't on a suicidal rampage. You heard the gunshots and wanted to help, I get it."

"Naw, I heard the shots an' wanted t'shoot the bastard who woke me up," Merle corrected.

"And after all that 'don't open the gate for nothing' crap, you went ahead and did it anyway."

"'Cause I knew the fight was over. Just Miltie's luck that I opened it when I did an' saw his pathetic ass tryin' t'gun down a movin' target. The man's a useless—"

Andrea gave Merle's forearm a meaningful squeeze. "He's our friend, and this town owes you for saving his life. He's not a warrior like you, Merle, but he's facing a different kind of battle and you can't berate him for that. Woodbury needs both of you and if you hadn't jumped in when you had, I don't think Woodbury would have either of you. So you can put on that façade of a man who thinks his life is shit and doesn't give a damn about what happens to him, but I know you're still fighting and when you've come down off of your high horse, maybe you'll accept my thanks."

Visibly uncomfortable with her declaration, Merle tried to twist away from her. Gratitude wasn't something the Dixons were used to, but this was probably even less true for Merle.

"The hell y'thankful for?"

"That you're still here. As much as I'm starting to genuinely care about the people here like Milton, Tate, Erica—"

"Don't say Guerrero—"

"I don't know about Guerrero, but that's not the point. I've made some friends, but I've still only been here a few weeks. And I know the Atlanta group was together in the quarry for the same amount of time, and that's how long I got to know you, but we _know_ each other. We're both fighting for the same thing and we've seen how we can change, given our circumstances. In some things, you haven't changed, like how you always have to be where the action is and how you can't take a meaningful conversation seriously, but I think you have changed in more ways, better ways. The Merle from the quarry would have written off Janine and Wade and said that it was their relationship, their problem and to hell with the kids while you were at it. But look at you now, murdering a man in his sleep after clubbing him half to death, just to keep him from putting his hands on those same two kids."

"They're kids; anybody who don't give a damn 'bout kids don't deserve t'live," said Merle indifferently.

"But you took me in when you found me out there," Andrea reasoned. "A sick, dying woman who you'd held a grudge against, and you took me in. I was everything you despise: weak, ignorant, inexperienced, but you still stuck your neck out for me. Tell me you would have done that a year ago."

"Where y'goin' with this, Blondie?"

"Your body realizes that you're making morally right decisions, which is something you're not used to doing, and it's fighting you on it, which is why you're so weak right now. The mental conflict your mind's waging has lowered your defenses and left you susceptible to illness, but you're still fighting it. You don't give up easily, and I suppose that stubborn streak is the reason why I'm still alive too. I owe you for that."

Merle blinked up at her and Andrea thought he was going to go into one of his long-winded self-righteous speeches about how he didn't need her sympathizing with him, but instead he said something that she should have seen coming. "Well, y'gonna kiss me, or what?"

Andrea smacked his cheek with the cloth, but bent over to kiss his forehead all the same. "Nice try."

She expected him to continue pressing her on the subject of sexual tensions between them but instead, he looked embarrassed, ashamed even, though Andrea didn't know what for. He turned his head away from her and said nothing so that Andrea had to wonder if maybe her little act of kindness had been misinterpreted. The silence that followed the endearing kiss was so still that even the crickets outside had stopped their chirping. The only sounds to be heard were the occasional drip-drops of water as Andrea wrung out the cloth and Merle's playlist.

" _When the days are cold/And the cards all fold—"_

Merle's hand found Andrea's wrist and he grasped it. Andrea waited for him to speak as the song continued playing and Merle seemed to grow more and more uneasy even though he held onto her.

" _When you feel my heat/Look into my eyes/It's where my demons hide, it's where my demons hide/Don't get too close/It's dark inside_ —"

"What is it?" asked Andrea, but Merle wouldn't speak. He closed his eyes, keeping his face turned away from her, and within moments, Andrea heard the drawn-out breathing of his troubled sleep.

Sometime later, when Andrea felt Merle's forehead and found that his fever had broken, she heard the creak of the floorboards behind her and turned to see the Governor standing on Merle's threshold with a twisted grin. With one long finger, he beckoned to Andrea, who slipped her wrist out of Merle's grasp and tiptoed out of the room. The Governor led her downstairs to the main room and only then did he speak.

"Well, Doctor Stephens tells me y'all've been busy without me these past few days, what with the whole Wade situation and the ordeal with the raiders. And yet, you're still not restin', but takin' care've Merle when y'should be sleepin'."

Finding this to be a very odd form of hello, Andrea didn't respond, which made the Governor chuckle.

"It's compliment, Andrea. The town's been through a rough patch while I was gone, but y'stepped up and helped keep it together, what with Merle bein' sick and Milton bein' lost without my help. Y'have my thanks for that."

"A rough patch," Andrea repeated. "Is that what you call the deaths of two men and the assault of a woman and her daughter? Wade was the same type of gutless shit as Crowley and I'm not the least bit sorry that he died. As for our run-in with those raiders, Guerrero and Martinez got us through it just fine. Meanwhile, we found out that it was Wade who abandoned his post when Lance and CJ were under attack, but we still don't know who let the walkers in. So now we're two men down, three if you count Elliot, who I'm sure you know by now is missing in action, and Janine is in a coma and Nina is traumatized. You picked one hell of a time to go looking for supplies."

The Governor stepped closer to her, his towering form reminding her of how small she actually was and how her words could very well get her into some serious trouble if she didn't know when to shut up.

"Some of those supplies I went to get are what's gonna help Doctor Stephens keep Janine alive and a good portion've 'em is gonna be used so we don't have to worry about people like Hobbs threatenin' us again. I like you, Andrea, but you're not seein' the whole picture, so I'd appreciate it if you'd give me more credit. D'you think I'd have willingly left my people if I didn't trust Merle and Milton to handle things for me? I know the people in this town and they haven't let me down yet, so I knew I was leavin' 'em in good hands, and that's why I stayed out as long as I did—'cause we needed those supplies and I owed it to Lance and CJ to retrieve 'em."

"Well, then, thanks for doing that. I'm going to bed."

Andrea hadn't made it two paces when the Governor caught her arm, preventing her from going any further. "Like I said, I like you, Andrea. Gimme a chance to prove that."

At that precise moment, the residents who lived underneath Merle came out of their room to ask the Governor something, allowing Andrea to slip out of the Governor's grip and hurry outside. Once she was clear of the building, she allowed herself to exhale shakily. That hungry, dominating look in the Governor's eyes was one that didn't sit well with her at all, and if they hadn't been interrupted at that moment, Andrea was afraid of what the outcome might have been. It wasn't that she didn't think herself capable of thinking or talking herself out of a tight situation, but she still knew very little about Phillip and each time she talked to him, the less she liked what she saw.

"Andrea?"

Milton was sitting on a bench just a few feet from her, but he got to his feet when he saw the look on her face and hurried over to her with concern.

"What's wrong? What happened?"

"Phillip's back," said Andrea evasively.

"Yes, I know, I just spoke with him."

"So did I, and now that he's back, I'm starting to think that maybe Woodbury was better off without him."

Milton sighed and nodded at the ground as if admitting his worst fear. "I'm afraid that ever since he left, that has been my thought as well."

It was a simple thing to say, a much larger thing to admit, but Andrea loved him for it, because it showed that as craven and insecure Milton felt, he could pick out a significant problem when he spotted one and his dog-like loyalty toward the Governor had not only wavered, but diminished to the point where Milton thought the man was more of a threat to the town than a form of support. Now Andrea knew that she not only had a true ally, but a sincere friend, and that was something she had been missing ever since she let Michonne walk out the gate without her.

Andrea didn't know if Milton was comfortable with this form of physical contact, but she needed it, so she didn't ask. She put her arms around him and hugged him, glad to feel someone else's warmth after going nine long months without any. Milton stiffened at her touch, but he didn't reject her. He simply stood there and allowed her to embrace him for all the time Andrea needed before she let go.

"I'm sorry," she apologized as soon as she broke contact. "I know how you are with people touching you, but—"

"It's okay," said Milton in his flat voice. "Just—tell me you're going to do that next time so I have some warning and can mentally prepare for it. I'm…I'm not used to that sort of affection from people."

"I'm not either, but I needed it," said Andrea in earnest.

"I know; that's why I let you do it," said Milton and he cracked a small smile.


	19. Chapter 19: A High Better Than Crack

**MERLE**

Relying on other people to ensure his survival was something that Merle absolutely could not tolerate for long. He became Dr. Stephen's best patient in order to recover from his illness: resting when told, taking medicine when instructed, and not doing anything stupid like walking down the street to go and see what was happening at the gate. Andrea dropped in to visit him every night, for which he was pleased, but on more than one occasion, she had Milton with her, and the morning following the attack on Woodbury, she had the Governor with her.

 _That_ had been an interesting conversation, and one that Merle felt was more of a chance for the Governor to mess with Merle's mind than anything else.

"Shame about Wade," the Governor had said, watching Merle intently so that Merle had the nagging suspicion that the man knew _exactly_ what had happened to Wade. "I hear you took matters into your own hands and that those hands nearly killed 'im. Lucky he just died in his sleep, huh?"

"Yeah, lucky."

The rest of the conversation was basically the Governor interrogating Merle about where he was the night of Wade's death and then marching over to get a whiff of Merle as if trying to detect if he was faking his own illness. Afterwards, he told Merle that he expected nothing but the best from his lieutenant and was pleased at how Merle had held down the fort, even going as far as to put his life on the line to contribute to fighting against Hobbs's people. It was his closing statement, however, that prompted Merle to dedicate every second of his life to getting better because being at the disadvantage laying down while the Governor stood over him toying with him was not only infuriating, but also traumatizing. Merle felt so powerless in this sickened state, something he'd not felt since he'd cut off his hand, and something he'd not felt before that since his father beat him for the last time at age sixteen.

Even though he was much shorter than the Governor, at least standing up made Merle feel like he had a fighting chance. Sprawled out on his bed, he was a sitting target, and the way the Governor's eyes flashed when he spoke of Wade's "unlucky accidental death" suggested that if Merle ever did something to upstage the Governor's authority again, Merle would be the one getting a visit from death in the middle of the night. It was most likely due to the fact that the town had despised Wade even before his death that the Governor didn't take repercussions on Merle. Had it been anyone else to die on Merle's watch, there would be hell to pay.

And so with complete determination, Merle was back on his feet in exactly four days. He walked out of his apartment building to waves and smiles from Woodbury's citizens, which was both a welcome change from the casual indifference he had been shown before, but also unsettling because it put him in a spotlight and made it that much more difficult to go about his business. He saw Tate sitting with Nathan and Nina until his leg could stand to have a little more pressure put on it. He saw Fletcher back on duty atop the wall and Raeanne taking lunch with Wesley under the mid-street tree canopy. And he saw Guerrero instructing Milton on how not to blow a hole in his foot while holding a shotgun at ease.

Martinez was at the gate, pulling it open for a scouting party to drive their truck through. Merle suddenly recalled his meeting with Michonne and how she had asked a favor of him, a favor which he'd unintentionally neglected since the day he found her at the gas station. Chiding himself, he jogged up to Martinez and told him to hold the gate open so that he could venture out.

"You sure you're up for that?" asked Martinez with a doubtful glance at Merle's leaner figure, a tribute to Merle vomiting up at least five pounds in body weight.

"Lemme out," said Merle, in no mood for Martinez's skepticisms. He slipped through the opening and walked out to the tree line before doubling back and crouching low to sneak up on the green Hyundai Elantra—or what remained of it. From here, the wall guard couldn't see him if he remained low, so he came around the passenger side and shimmied into the front seat, tucking his knees up to his chest as he rummaged in the glove compartment for something out of the ordinary. The lightbulb had broken inside and the glass sliced Merle's finger so that he had to bite down on the seat to keep from swearing and giving himself away. As he sucked the blood off of his finger, he saw a rolled up piece of paper, yellowed with age, but inconspicuous to anyone who happened to glance into the glove compartment. He pulled the paper out, unrolled it, and read the first line.

 _Well, hot damn._

"Well, where the hell'd you go that it only took you five minutes to do what you needed to do?" asked Martinez a few moments later as Merle called up to him to open the gate.

"I needed outta town for some fresh air, jackass, now lemme back in."

Guerrero opened the gate and Merle set off for Andrea's room, trying not to look like he was in a hurry to get there. He took the steps two at a time and arrived rather out of breath on the landing, but twisted around the railing and counted the second room from the stairs. He knocked on the door, but didn't wait for an answer before letting himself in. His words of excitement died in his throat at the sight of Andrea just finishing securing a towel around herself with her sopping hair trickling water down her bare shoulders. Merle couldn't help himself; he felt his body respond to her as his heart began thumping against his chest, his mouth went dry, and the material around his crotch grew uncomfortably tight.

Andrea, however, looked downright pissed.

"Goddammit, Merle, did you not see the sign on the door?" she shouted.

Merle glanced back over his shoulder at the words "PLEASE WAIT" written in loopy handwriting on the whiteboard that she had attached to the door.

"Guess I didn't," said Merle, swinging the door shut behind him.

"The doors don't have locks, so I write a message up there when I'm showering. Could you have waited two minutes?" asked Andrea as she wrapped the towel closer around her.

"Could've, didn't wanna," said Merle, unable to tear his eyes away from the hourglass figure that the towel amplified.

"Well, get out while I get dressed."

"You're gonna wanna see this," said Merle, stepping further into the room with the rolled up sheet of paper held out to her. "Found it in the glove box've the green car out in front've the gate."

Andrea used one hand to hold up her towel and took the paper from Merle with the other. "What is it, have you read it yet?"

"Just the first line. Figured I'd letchoo read it first since it's addressed to ya."

Andrea said aloud: "If you're reading this, Andrea, that means someone's not as much of an asshole as I thought he was. I'm safe—or as safe as I can be. I won't say where, but I found your old group: Rick, Glenn, Carol, and others. They've taken me in and I've told them about you and where you are. If you want to know more, you know who to ask. I'll wait every day. Three o'clock."

Andrea's face lit up with each word she read and when she finished, she turned excitedly to Merle. "She made it?"

"She made it," Merle assured her.

"When she mentions this asshole—"

"That'd be me."

"What does she mean?"

"I was out doin' m'rounds, lettin' off steam, hopin' t'find m'brother. Found her siftin' through the goods boxes at a gas station. We had a standoff, but I told her that I's on my own and didn't want no part've killin' her. She asked me t'look inside the green car four days from then, which is today, t'give you a letter. If y'wanna talk t'her, I know the place where she wants t'meet."

"The group made it," said Andrea, more to herself than to Merle, but with how she was positively glowing from her scrub in the shower and the news of her friends' survival, he didn't care. "Rick, Glenn, Carol…and others. That could mean Daryl. Maybe she didn't mention Daryl because she didn't want the Governor to know you're linked with this in case he found the letter."

"Maybe," said Merle. "I was thinkin've taggin' along anyhow, just t'find out."

"What day does she want me to come?"

"I'd guess tomorrow since it's nearin' six right now. She said she'd wait for ya every day 'til y'showed up, so I'm guessin' tomorrow's a gooda time as any t'check. I'm out doin' my rounds then too, so the Governor won't suspect nothin' if y'join me."

Andrea's smile faltered just slightly. "So tomorrow you'll know for sure about Daryl."

"Yup. It's gonna be a long night, but it all comes down t'what happens tomorrow. Then we'll see what my options are."

He couldn't say that he'd expected it, but he did accept it when Andrea kissed his cheek, and not in a way that suggested that she felt sorry for him or that she was humoring him like she'd done the night she kissed his forehead. It was a kiss of gratitude for going behind the Governor's back and risking his own life to keep her secret.

"It may not seem like a big change to you, but that took more of a sense of humanity than I thought you had, so thank you."

"I had some humanity when I beat the shit outta Crowley, y'know."

"That's not quite the same thing. You were reacting because of your own personal experience with that sort of thing and you almost killed him. But sparing the life of someone you hardly know and don't particularly like—that's different. That's what makes you human."

Then, as if suddenly remembering that she was nearly naked, Andrea's cheeks flushed red and she motioned at the door.

Merle bit his lip. The situation was almost perfect, if only he hadn't angered her when he barged in. He felt that if he didn't try now, he'd never get another shot, especially if she chose to go with Michonne and left him to return to Woodbury alone.

"I should see 'bout gettin' you a lock've some kind," he said experimentally. "Don't want nobody walkin' in when you're actually in the shower."

"No, we don't want that, but I may not need that lock after tomorrow. We'll see, but until then…" Andrea cleared her throat more pointedly and Merle knew he was pushing his luck, but he was far beyond aroused now and damned if he didn't give it his all on account of this one woman who'd always sat at the back of his mind.

"Y'know, y'oughtta go back t'the ponytail, Blondie. Lets people see your face better."

He ran his finger under her chin as he had that night when they had their first private conversation.

"Well, I've had a good reason to try and hide it lately," said Andrea, but this time without mentioning the door.

"Y'gotta learn how t'wear the poker face, sweetheart. That's what all us folks who don't got luscious locks t'hide our faces gotta do. Then you can carry the world on your shoulders'n no one'd ever know."

"Your poker face isn't half as good as you think it is, though," said Andrea, prodding Merle's nose with the corner of the letter. "Woodbury may not have seen your real face before, but I have. I know what it looks like and what each expression means."

There was the gateway he'd been waiting for.

"Then what's it mean right now?"

Merle took the letter from her and set it on the bedside table. There was less than a foot between them. Andrea's shoulders were tensed and water from her hair continued to drip down her prominent shoulder blades. He could tell that she wanted to look away, but his gaze commanded her presence.

"What's it mean, Andrea?"

She couldn't string the words together. Whatever internal struggle she was battling, it prevented her from saying what she felt was the right thing to say and what she actually wanted to say.

Merle leaned in and pressed his lips against hers. There was the most fleeting moment in which she tried to draw away, perhaps because past experiences told her that this was wrong, but that moment passed by and she gave in to his hold. He felt her hands slide up either side of his neck to cup the back of his head. Before he could reach out and touch her, he felt the fabric from the towel drop away from her body and crumple around her ankles on the floor.

/ /

By suggesting that Andrea needed to learn how to go scouting with confidence, Merle managed to get her permission to come along with him and the two of them set off the next afternoon in relatively high spirits, and not just because they were on their way to finding out what had become of the people they cared about most. After the events of last night, Merle had an unexplainable amount of energy that surged into him and fueled him like an emotional high, even better than the type of high he got off of crack. And he caught himself glancing sideways at Andrea more than once to see a partially concealed grin forming on her lips, which brought him an immense amount of satisfaction. They said nothing more than the occasional question asking the time or pointing out that they needed to take a slight detour or longer route to avoid a biter, but after last night, they didn't need to say anything to one another.

Finally, they arrived within sight of the gas station and Merle pulled out his sidearm, creeping forward with his eyes peeled.

"What, do you think Michonne staged this whole thing just to ambush you?" asked Andrea skeptically as Merle led the way up the road.

"It ain't that I don't trust 'er, I just don't trust 'er," said Merle.

"That made no sense. She could have killed you, you could have killed her, but neither of you did and trust me when I say that if she wanted you dead, she wouldn't have held back. Are you even listening to me? Merle?"

Merle had stopped paying attention when he saw the people emerging from behind the gas station. He saw Officer Friendly just behind Michonne with T-Dog and a woman Merle didn't know bringing up the rear.

"I don't believe it," he whispered.

More or less, they looked the same, and it made the hate Merle had harvested for them return just as easily. He lowered his gun slightly at the sight of Michonne leading them, but they were not as trusting of him, for they and the woman with them advanced with the intent to kill on their faces.

Andrea moved in front of Merle on her own, spreading out her arms to try and conceal all of him so that they wouldn't fire.

"Easy, Rick, easy, he's with me," she said in a tone filled with relief, but then she hissed back over her shoulder, "Put it away."

Merle holstered his pistol, but kept his hand near it to remind Rick and his people that Merle wasn't to be trifled with.

"You didn't say there'd be others," said Rick Grimes to Michonne accusingly. "We're not takin' him."

"Ain't askin' you to, Officer Friendly," said Merle. "I'm just droppin' off the package."

"Where the hell'd you come from, man?" asked T-Dog, and though he had kept his weapon trained on Merle, it was easy to see that he looked the most uncomfortable in Merle's presence, as well he should be; he was the one who had dropped the key to Merle's handcuffs.

"Oh, I always turn up at some point, homeboy," said Merle, but then he brought the topic around to the whole reason he had walked back out here in the first place. "Is my brother alive?"

It was so easy to ask the question, but the few seconds he spent waiting for the answer lasted an eternity. Here was the question he had been asking himself for twelve months and in less time than it took to blink, he was going to find out—one way or another.

"Yeah, he's alive," said Rick. "He's back at our camp."

The shadow that had cast itself over Merle since he volunteered to go into Atlanta to help with the scouting party lifted. The weight of the world crumbled away from his shoulders and fresh air drew into his lungs so that he felt lighter and more alive than he could ever remember. There was always the fear as a child of what would happen next in a world that didn't accept his and Daryl's kind, but now that all those doubters were dead, all that stood between Merle and his brother was the information Rick withheld. As soon as Merle was reunited with Daryl, there would be no cause to ever worry again.

"I wanna see 'im,"

"We can arrange that," said Rick. "I'll take my people back to our camp and let Daryl know that we found you. He'll meet you here tomorrow, same time."

"Why don't y'all wanna take me to this camp, huh? That's where Daryl is, an' I wanna see 'im—t'day."

"We haven't seen you in twelve months; we don't know where you're comin' from or what kinda people you're goin' back to," said Rick, and Merle could see that the sheriff was uneasy now. "All we know's what Michonne told us and she didn't stick around long enough to find out what's really goin' on in Woodbury. But she knew that it wasn't a safe place to stay, which tells me that the man leadin' your people's not exactly the negotiatin' type. And if you're his right-hand man…" Rick paused here, obviously uncomfortable at his slip-up as he regarded Merle's metal shell.

"I get it. Y'all don't trust me any more'n I trust y'all, but that don't change the fact that I wanna see my brother. Take me to 'im. Ain't like I'mma kill 'im when I get there and then report y'all back t'my camp. I don't care where you're holdin' up; I just wanna see Daryl for m'self."

"And I give you my word that he'll be here tomorrow," said Rick firmly.

"Bullshit, man. I ain't got no reason t'trust you after Atlanta."

"You would've shot us the second we walked into view if you didn't trust us," said the woman. "We're not takin' you back to our camp, only Andrea."

"Is that a fact?"

Merle clasped the quick release on his holster, but Andrea grabbed both his hand and his gun, squeezing hard as she stared him down.

 _Don't do it,_ her eyes said warningly.

Merle was stronger and he started to push her back, but by now Rick and his posse had pulled their own guns on him.

"You do this and you'll never see Daryl," whispered Andrea. "It's not their fault that they don't trust you. Remember, we're all at fault here for what happened in Atlanta. You have every reason to be angry, but they don't know how you'll react. You won't be as calm as you were with me. Rick's a good man, Merle, and if he says Daryl will be back here tomorrow, he will. You have _my_ word on that."

"What's it gonna be, Dixon?" asked Rick.

"Tomorrow," said Andrea. "I'll have my things with me then. Tomorrow I'll come back with you, but today I'll go with Merle."

"Andrea—" Michonne protested.

"It's okay. I've got this," Andrea assured her friend, and Merle realized that Andrea was putting off a reunion with her own people so that she could keep Merle in check until tomorrow. She was so close to the thing she wanted most, but was willing to wait another whole day—for him. And after that, she'd be gone, and Merle would have his brother back.

It seemed almost too easy, too fair, too _wrong_. Fate was never so kind to the Dixons before, especially not Merle, and yet after having the one woman he'd wanted for so long, he was also getting the chance to reunite with his brother. Either God was playing a cruel joke on him, or there was something blatantly and obviously wrong at work here that Merle was too blind to see. But he was still running on the high from last night and he had to put his hope in this one thing going right, so he allowed Andrea to take his hand and lead him away from the gas station and the people who were the reason that she had taken his left hand instead of his right.


	20. Chapter 20: When It Counts

**MILTON**

After a rather successful morning learning how to properly handle a shotgun and not accidentally shoot someone while resting it across his shoulders, Milton was feeling quite accomplished and despite the anticipation building within him of the inevitable talk Phillip would want to have with him at some point, he was in high spirits as he finished his supper and returned to his long-neglected research in the lab.

He stretched out in his rolling chair and started to rifle through his papers to find where he had left off. As he searched, he landed on a long calculation that he had been working on that involved endorphins in the human brain versus those in a biter's brain. As he reviewed the calculation, he leaned closer and closer to the table until his nose was barely an inch off of the surface.

Then he heard a voice from the entryway and tipped so far back in his chair that his heart stopped beating for a moment and he feared that he would actually die from falling over in his chair, which was a completely irrational fear to have in the apocalypse.

"Working late?"

Milton whirled around to see Becky twirling a pistol by the trigger around her forefinger as she strode in. Even with his limited knowledge of weapons, Milton knew that holding a pistol like that was a good way to shoot someone's eye out and a stupid move regardless, so he rushed over to her and snatched it away, tucking it into the back of his belt so that she couldn't reach it.

"That is extremely unsafe behavior. And this room is restricted—"

"It's open to Woodbury's army, isn't it?" asked Becky coyly, sitting down on one of the tables that had Milton's papers spread across it.

"When the Governor calls a meeting here, yes, but—"

"Well, as of today, I'm in Woodbury's army."

 _Well, that sounds like complete and utter horseshit. And if it's true, we're doomed_.

"Really? I'd like to know who authorized that," said Milton, trying to push Becky off of his research without having to touch her.

"Crowley said I could join if I wanted because that's how Erica and Andrea joined. They got their boyfriends to ask the Governor," said Becky, tracing the breast pocket of Milton's shirt.

Milton stepped away from her, retreating to the machinery a few tables over and trying to make himself look busy. "However true that may be, neither Andrea nor Erica was actually with anyone when they joined the army—and Andrea's still single to my knowledge—and both had already proven their aptitude for weaponry, so the Governor had no qualms about recruiting them. His say is final and he has to approve of anyone who joins by seeing that they can handle themselves under pressure."

"I can handle myself just fine," said Becky, swinging her legs back and forth as she watching Milton pretend to work. "The Governor'll let me in and I'm a fast learner."

"Be that as it may, you aren't officially a soldier yet, so I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Andrea wasn't an official soldier yet, but you let her in here," Becky snapped. "Oh, but wait, you don't vouch for her. That was her man-whore."

Torn between wanting Becky out of the lab but also wanting to satisfy his nagging curiosity, Milton asked quizzically, "Man-what now?"

Becky chuckled. "The male equivalent of me. I know everyone here thinks I'm a slut and I don't give a shit. But it takes one to know one and from the look of Merle, he slept around a lot before all this biter business went down. He likes the women, is what I'm saying, and he and Andrea buddied up so she could get into the army and in return, he could get into her pants."

This was definitely news to Milton, but as it was coming from Becky, he wasn't inclined to believe her. Andrea might have known Merle from before, but there was nothing to suggest that she was attracted to him—at least, nothing that she showed. She and Merle were acquainted with one another, maybe even comfortable enough to tease each other in a rather brutal fashion, but their semi-friendship couldn't extend beyond that, could it? Merle had defended Andrea, even risked getting into serious trouble with Phillip over her, but Milton had done that as well, just in a less violent sense. What had Merle offered her to win her over?

And why was Milton even contemplating this? What business was it of his? Andrea was free to sleep with whomever she wanted, even if that was Merle. She was perfectly capable of defending herself and she didn't need Milton or anyone else taking up that role for her. By defending her, Milton was putting himself in a position he didn't want to be in, one that several people had already called him out on. Phillip and Merle both believed Milton to be attracted to Andrea because she was the one woman he could actually let his guard down around and to the rest of the town, that was as good as flirting.

But he wasn't, was he? _Was he_? He tried to rack his brain for his true feelings. The logical explanation was that Milton felt protective of her because she had shown a genuine interest in him, so he responded in the only way he knew how. But what if the answer wasn't logical, and he had actually developed an emotional attachment to her that went deeper than friendship? What if the feelings Phillip and Merle had accused him of having were real and not just a manifestation of what they wanted to believe?

If Andrea was indeed with Merle now, though, it didn't matter, but Milton was still very much doubtful of Becky's ability to tell the truth, and he told her as much.

"That's not information generally displayed to the public, so unless you've been spying on them—"

Becky hopped off of the table and came around to where Milton had dropped all pretenses of working on something just to keep her at bay. "You're cute. Naïve, but cute. I just know these things like I know that you weren't aware of that until now and that you're feeling a bit jealous of Merle. But I'm here to tell you not to be. Andrea's not much to look at and she doesn't know her way around the men like I do. I'll make you a deal, Milton; get me into the army and I'll show you everything that Andrea could never give you."

And this was exactly why Milton was uncomfortable around women. He tried to back away from Becky, but she had him cornered against a table so that his thighs touched the side of the rimming.

"You need to leave right now. I have work to do," said Milton, hoping that she couldn't detect the nervousness in his voice.

"And you need to relax."

Becky started to unbutton Milton's shirt and he felt heat running up his collar as his fight or flight instincts kicked in. He tried to make her lower her hands, but she hooked her fingers around his neck and pulled him in to kiss him. Before he could even begin to push her away, a voice interrupted.

"Y'all wanna do that, do it someplace else on your own time."

Milton had never been happier to hear Merle's voice than now.

Merle pointed to Milton and held up one of two rifles he had slung over his shoulder. "You're with me, Miltie. We've got evenin' watch at the back wall 'til eleven."

And just like that, Milton was half-wishing that Merle had never showed up. But his reluctance to stay in the same room as Becky far outweighed any misgivings he had involving Merle, so he followed his mentor out of the lab (only after shooing Becky out first), and climbed up the ladder behind him to mount the wall. It was here that Merle surrendered one of the rifles to Milton, reminding him how to use the weapon before he started pacing the wall and ignoring Milton completely unless he had to maneuver around him.

"Um," said Milton timidly, "are we going to discuss what happened in there?"

"With the skank? What's there t'discuss? You're welcome for that, too," said Merle, moving past Milton on his twenty-eighth time walking the length of the wall.

"I had it sorted."

"I saw. She almost had 'er tongue down your throat, that's what I call havin' it sorted. Just stay the hell away from her, is that so hard? Putcher foot down."

"I did; I told her to leave—"

"She comes onto ya and all you can do's lean back like y'thought that was gonna help? Jesus, man, you're helpless. You'll die a virgin, I guarantee it. Ain't worth losin' it t'some hoe like that."

"Don't call her that. What she chooses to do with her body is her choice. It's everyone's choice what they choose to do with their body, and some might call you the male equivalent of what you just referred to Becky as."

Merle looked confused, a look that suited his face since he wasn't the most intelligent of men Milton had ever encountered and privately, it gave Milton an enormous amount of savage satisfaction to think of Merle as his inferior on the intellectual field.

"The hell y'talkin' about?" asked Merle. "What's that bitch been tellin' ya?"

"Nothing," said Milton quickly. "I can just tell that you were rather promiscuous yourself before the world ended, so you don't have the right to be labeling people. You should focus instead on what sort of message your questionable behavior sends to people who respect and admire you—like Janine's children."

Merle took a seat on one of the shorter towers, stroking his whiskers with his hand as he watched Milton. Then, a look of dawning appeared on his face, and it was this demonic smiling expression that made Milton's blood chill because he had previously associated it with the out-of-hand upstart that Phillip found clinging to life out in the dirt. The look brought back memories of the madness hiding just inside this unstable man in front of him and for Merle to regard Milton with it now told Milton that he should be running as fast as he could in the opposite direction.

"This ain't about me, is it, Miltie? You're butthurt 'cause I got t'Andrea first, ain'tcha?"

"Oh, will you stop it with that? This has nothing to do with any sort of feelings I may have for Andrea. This is about you not giving her a bad rap based off of your reputation. If the two of you are an item now, it's your responsibility to make sure that the love-starved men who hold the wall don't make a move like Crowley. Now that she's been with you, you've alerted everyone in Woodbury to the fact that Andrea has consented, and other men might take advantage of that."

"You just can't admit to it when y'get a boner, Miltie."

Though Milton wasn't keen to have Merle looking purposely at his private parts, he had to steer this conversation away from him because at the moment, he wasn't entirely sure that his affection for Andrea was born out of jealousy or the instinct to protect her from people like Merle taking advantage of her as Crowley had.

"Do you see an erection forming here?" Milton gestured below his belt, feeling quite foolish for doing so.

"I wouldn't expect t'see one, unless y'swing for the other team, an' then I dunno if I'd be flattered that I got that sorta reaction outta ya nor not."

"Dammit, Merle, can you take nothing seriously?"

"Take this seriously, y'weepy willow shitsack: she don't need you stickin' up for her 'cause she's made've sterner stuff than you. What me'n Andrea do ain't none've your goddamn business an' if we gotta have this discussion again, it'll be the last discussion y'ever have. ."

Milton didn't have a response ready even though he knew he needed to say something, but just then Merle turned to the left and switched on the floodlight that illuminated the ground for at least twenty yards out.

"One o'clock," he said, training the light on two biters milling toward the wall from the trees. "Put 'em down."

"B-but I haven't gotten the hang of it yet. I'm a rubbish shot—"

"Only way t'learn how t'shoot is t'do it. Put 'em _down_."

Milton hefted the rifle up to his shoulder and squinted through the scope, pressing it to his glasses as he aimed at the nearest biter's head. Thanks to Guerrero, he knew that wherever he was aiming, the bullet would go in lower, so he needed to aim for a spot lower than the forehead just to be safe. He pulled the trigger, but the biter tripped over its own feet at that exact moment and Milton's bullet missed it.

"Y'better get it before it comes inside the danger zone," warned Merle, but his presence made it that much harder to concentrate as Milton reloaded chamber and tried again as the biter started to crawl rather than get up. It was much more difficult to shoot at a target when it was lying down because the reality of its position was distorted, but when Milton let off his second shot, it sailed over the biter's head and hit its sprawled-out leg.

Normally, Milton would have been allowed a third shot, but Merle took the rifle from him and shot the crawling biter by extending his arm and firing at chest level. The shot had gone in through the biter's cheek and its head hit the pavement as the second biter continued to advance.

"An' that's why I didn't wantchoo on this damn wall in the first place. Y'ain't got it in ya," said Merle in disappointment.

"Yes, I do. I killed my first man."

"Whaddaya want, a cookie? That ain't somethin' t'be proud've unless you're proud that y'had the balls t'do what y'already should know how t'do. If y'killed somebody, it was an accident."

"I was doing what I could for the town while you ganged up on a man and broke almost every bone his body before killing him and afterward sat shitting on your toilet while the rest of us tried to deal with an actual threat."

"I'm done with this bullshit," said Merle, setting the rifles down against one of the towers. "Fuck this," he motioned at the wall, "fuck that," he pointed at the second biter, "an' fuck you." He started down the ladder and jumped the last four rungs, stomping off back to the buildings (and if Milton was judging his gait correctly, Merle was headed for Andrea's building, not his own).

"Well, fuck you too, then," said Milton once Merle had gone, and swiped his rifle back up to take down the biter that was just feet from the danger zone. He put the scope back to his eye, found his target, and fired. Blood sprayed out the back of the biter's skull as Milton's bullet took it down. More annoyed than anything else that he had actually gotten a biter on his first shot and no one was there to witness, Milton kicked at one of the tire towers so that the top two tires fell off and hit the ground below rolling. "Oh, goddammit…"

"What's God done to you now, dude?"

Guerrero stepped off the ladder and joined Milton on the wall.

"That," Milton motioned with his rifle at his kill, "is infuriating. Merle told me to put the biters down and I missed, so like a mature, responsible soldier, he walked off in a huff and left me to deal with the second, which I killed on my first shot and no one will believe me when I tell them that."

"I believe you," said Guerrero, glancing down at the biters and turning off the floodlight.

"Don't patronize me—"

"I saw you make the shot and heard the body fall, dude. I also saw and heard the real reason Merle abandoned his post, and he's lucky I don't report his sorry ass to the Governor."

"Don't do that; he'll probably think I told on him. Just let him be; there's no reasoning with him."

"Suit yourself, dude," said Guerrero with a shrug, taking up Merle's rifle. "I'll cover the rest of the watch with you."

"But you're pulling a double. You just got off the clock—"

"Yeah, and I'm still wide awake. I'll finish out the rotation, no worries, okay? Besides, if more biters show up, I wanna see these mad skills of yours."

Finding no humor in the situation, Milton regarded his kill with loathing. Why couldn't he have had that ability during the fight with Hobbs? He might have saved Aaron instead of freezing up when the hostages' lives were in his hands. He might have saved an innocent man if he had done then what he could do now, but instead his lucky talent had decided to forego a public display and only work when no one was around to see and when it didn't matter.

"It wasn't your fault, dude," said Guerrero and Milton realized that the former was regarding him with something that looked like pity. "In this shit-fest, you can't save everyone. Believe me, I tried, and believe me when I say that you'll save yourself a lotta heartache and trouble if you just learn to accept that in every piss-poor situation, someone's gonna die. It's easier to get by that way."

This statement was positively profound coming from Guerrero, but Milton wanted to know more about these people who Guerrero had failed to save. Were they his family? Friends? Just bystanders who were the reason Guerrero was now as hardened as Merle?

"What happened to them?"

"It's not important—"

"Yes, it is. You brought it up for a reason and whoever these people were, they obviously had an effect on your outlook on life to make you give advice on accepting that someone is always going to die. Who were they? What happ—"

"Dude, _drop it_ ," said Guerrero and he regarded Milton with a look that told him to keep talking if he wanted to get two black eyes, a broken nose, and half of the teeth in his mouth punched out.

So Milton said nothing, but he wouldn't forget.


	21. Chapter 21: Grim Ultimatum

**ANDREA**

Andrea had volunteered to help take care of Nathan and Nina while their mother was in recovery and also keep Janine's apartment clean, so as the rest of the town bedded down for the night, Andrea was still dusting off shelves after just putting the twins to bed. If she finished in time, she planned to start reading through Janine's rather extensive collection of books since Andrea hadn't been able to enjoy any leisurely time as of late. She would only have to wait around until ten o'clock when Erica's shift at the front wall ended and the other woman came to sleep over with the twins for the night.

When the last of her cleaning duties were done, Andrea selected a teen mythology book off of the bookshelf and started to read. She could have chosen a book on tectonic plate shifting or barnacle goose migration or even a Stephen King novel, but since she was already living in a horrific nightmare every day, she bypassed the obvious choice and decided to step out of her comfort zone. The book she had chosen had easy vocabulary and teenage wit and she found herself nine chapters in when she heard a knock on the door. Checking the watch that Tate had lent her, she saw that it was a quarter to ten.

She cracked open the door to see the Governor standing there, and she had a sudden urge to slam the door in his face and double bolt the locks, but thought better of that bizarre behavior and stepped back to allow him in.

"Are you my replacement?"

"No, but I did come to see how the twins were gettin' along," said the Governor as he strode in and looked quickly about the room. His eyes fell on the dog-eared book on the couch and he smiled. "Aren't you a little old to be reading kid books?"

"That's like asking if you're too old to have an imagination," responded Andrea. "An adult wrote that book and even though the intended audience was kids, adults can still read it. I happen to like the subject material."

"Okay, I'm not judgin'," said the Governor as he swiped up the book and read the blurb on the back. "Greek mythology? Now, that's somethin' I was always interested in."

"Really? I took you for more of an Egyptian mythology type of guy, Governor."

"Phillip," the Governor corrected. "And you'd be wrong. When I was a kid, I told my dad I wanted to be Zeus. Bein' able to shoot lightin' at anyone who upset 'im—see, I got bullied a lot and the idea've punishin' them little hooligans who hurt me was mighty appealin'. But Zeus was leader of the gods, protector've mankind—"

"And he could sleep with anyone he wanted and they didn't get to say no if they wanted to not be turned into a cow or be killed," Andrea finished. Only after she had spoken did she want to clap her hands to her mouth in horror at her stupidity. She didn't know what had made her say it, but it had come out nonetheless. She knew the real reason the Governor was here, and it wasn't to check on the twins, otherwise he would have just stood at the door and asked upfront. No, he had come to ask, or rather demand, something of Andrea since she had to stay in the apartment until Erica came to relieve her.

"Zeus couldn't keep it in his toga, true, but that's not why I admired 'im," said the Governor, assessing Andrea with a grim smile. "Is that why _you_ admire 'im?"

"I don't. I always thought Zeus was the bully."

"Mmmm," said the Governor as he moved back toward the door. "Well, I take it, y'aren't in the mood for much more small talk, so I'll get right to it. This's just a question and y'don't gotta gimme a full-detailed explanation, but it's somethin' I gotta take stock in."

"What?" asked Andrea.

"You and Merle?"

Andrea's heart began pounding as it jumped to her throat. "Excuse me?"

"Well, walls aren't exactly soundproof here, y'know, and y'happen t'live in the room above Becky and she practically preached it to everyone at the cantina this mornin'. Plus, I saw Merle go into your buildin' yesterday and he didn't come out 'til this mornin'. He must've had quite a lot to offer."

"We're not having this conversation," said Andrea boldly. "It's none of your business and I'm not about to spill out intimate details about my personal life."

"It is my business if my best lieutenant's got his head up in the clouds 'cause he's thinkin' about you. Merle's never been with a single woman in these walls, somethin' I attribute to the fact that he's got one hand, which is a big turn-off for the ladies. But then you come along and in less than two months, he's gotcha in bed."

Andrea wasn't going to stand here and listen to this. She didn't need to explain what had gone on behind closed doors to anyone, least of all the Governor, because despite his excuse that he needed Merle focused, it still wasn't his damn business. No one needed to know the finer details of Andrea and Merle's relationship—if one even existed—and she doubted anyone but the Governor wanted to know. Wondering if it was like this for every one of Woodbury's soldiers whenever they decided to take someone into their bed, Andrea started off toward the door, feeling that she could call to Erica from the front of the building and get some backup before the Governor could say anything else, but he beat her to the door and leaned against it so that she couldn't open it.

"You're not doin' him any favors, y'know," he said. "Until you showed up, Merle didn't have anythin' I could threaten 'im with in case he got outta hand. Now I do."

"And just what's he done that would give you cause to threaten to hurt me if he didn't obey you? For that matter, what have _I_ done that's earned me this kind of treatment? If I'd gone to bed with Milton, I can't see that you'd have grilled him on the juicy details of what happened once the door closed—"

"Oh, you're wrong there. I'd care very much about that because Milton's never gonna be able to get it up for anyone, yourself included, so if he was suddenly performin', that'd be a miracle and an intervention on God's behalf."

"What the hell's wrong with you? You're sick, you know that?"

"Now, it's no business of mine what my men do in their spare time or who they bed, but I do start to take interest in who they bed when it's you."

Andrea put her hand to the holster at her side.

"I wouldn't do that."

"Get out of the way."

"I'm not askin' for much here, Andrea. I suspect that you've known I was gonna ask this for a while now and frankly, I'm kinda hurt that you think so lowly've me when I thought we had a connection. I'll tell ya how I see things and then I'll let you decide where y'wanna go from there. I took you in, gave you medicine, and kept you safe from what's outside those walls. I gave you a second chance after your friend Michonne threatened to slice my neck open when she pulled her sword on me. I could've killed you just to be safe, but I gave you the benefit've the doubt. I let you in the army and I made you a higher ranking soldier than Erica in the time that you've been here. I put Crowley behind bars for you. And I've helped the people see your true potential; they trust you now to keep them safe just like they trust me. I'd say that makes us a team, partners even. And partners work well together, don't they?"

There wasn't enough space between the two of them for Andrea to make a move. She knew the Governor wouldn't raise a hand to her; he wasn't that kind of man. But he could threaten her with something worse than physical pain, get inside her head in a way that only someone with his verbal capabilities knew how to do. Whatever or whoever he was about to toss out onto the table, she would have to play her own cards very carefully.

"Tell me again that you don't admire Zeus for being a rapist," she said venomously.

"I don't. The fact that he and I share some negative traits is just an unfortunate coincidence. Now, you tell me what you think your options are."

/ /

Andrea set the chair underneath the doorknob of her room since she still didn't have a lock installed on it. She turned to her bed, only to find it already occupied by a passed-out Merle who was sprawled on his stomach with his head facing away from her. As Andrea took off her holster and dropped her bag on the floor beside the bed, Merle gave a snort and awoke.

His head rose off of his pillow. He rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles as he turned his head and peered at her in the dim light that came in from the street fire pits. "Wassmatter?" he asked groggily.

"What are you even doing in here?"

"I _was_ sleepin'," said Merle.

"Look, last night was last night and I'm not coming back here after tomorrow, but you are, so let's not let this go any further."

"I honestly just came back here t'sleep," said Merle, propping himself up on one arm. "Greg lives next t'me an' he snores like a foghorn an' I needed the sleep. What's wrong with you, anyway?"

"Nothing," said Andrea, laying her pistol down on the chair beside the bed and tugging the hair tie out of her hair to start unbraiding it. Her fingers worked at untwisting the golden strands as the Governor's words ran over and over in her head with the intensity of a fire alarm playing like a broken record.

" _As long as we've got an understandin', Merle's got all his appendages, minus the one he cut off himself. I'll see you tomorrow night, won't I?_ "

"Hey, what's up?" asked Merle, prodding her with a finger.

"Just go back to bed."

"Well, I can't just do that now; y'got me curious. What happened?"

"Nothing, I told you. God, Merle, will you just go the hell back to sleep?"

Merle crawled over to Andrea's side of the bed, making the whole mattress move as he went, and then plopped down right next to her, but he didn't put his arm around her or nudge her in a teasing way or do anything she expected of him. Instead he put his arm on the top of his thigh and leaned on it so that when she looked over at him, he had an expression that said, _What the hell is your problem?_

"Well, excuse the fuck outta me, woman. After all I done for ya, this's how y'answer me when I show actual interest in whatcha got goin' on? After I took ya back to your restin' bitch-faced friend an' showed ya a hell've a good time last night—"

"Don't twist this around on me like you did before," snapped Andrea. "You wanted a thank you out of me when I wasn't willing to give it, but you made me feel guilty because you found me out in the woods. Don't do that to me again. I don't owe you shit, and you can't use me—"

"Use you?" Merle repeated. "Andrea, what the actual fuck? Tell me what happened just now before y'came back here. Somebody done said somethin' to ya. Was it Kendall or Benson? Was it Milton?"

Andrea felt hot liquid brimming in the corners of her eyes and turned her face away from Merle. She was thankful beyond words for him showing such concern for her, but if he knew the reason for her being upset, Woodbury would be burnt to the ground by morning. He couldn't know what she had just agreed to do for him—not that she was actually going to go through with it. She would be long gone before the Governor ever got the chance, but when Merle came back to Woodbury without her, would the Governor make good on his promise to punish Merle, or would he let it go? She wanted to believe that the Governor would throw a fit and then bury the hatchet, but if he could talk about his childhood bullies with sadistic fantasies of wanting to zap them with bolts of electricity, he wasn't likely to forget Andrea making a fool out of him.

If Merle stayed here, he was in danger. But if he left with Andrea, what was to keep the Governor from taking out his frustrations on the rest of Andrea's friends? Tate, Erica, Wes, and Milton—poor Milton. The Governor had shown his blatant disregard for Milton's life before; he wouldn't hesitate to do it again, and Andrea couldn't allow that. But if she stayed, she would be traumatized, assaulted, stripped of everything that made her the survivor she was. She would be cut down to barely a shadow of the woman she had been after Amy died. She couldn't take this lying down, but if she didn't, more people would suffer in her place.

"Y'gotta gimme somethin' t'work with here," prompted Merle. "I'mma keep askin' til y'do, an' y'know I don't shut up."

"When you see Daryl tomorrow," began Andrea, which shut Merle up anyway, "what do you plan to do?"

"Well, I could tell ya, but that ain't somethin' I rightly figured out yet an' even if I did, I wouldn't tell ya, 'cause y'ain't answered _my_ question."

"I need to know, because it has to do with my situation right now. If you asked Daryl to leave with you so that the two of you could run for it and start over, do you think he'd go with you? Or do you think he'd stay with Rick and the others? Or maybe, do you think that he'd come back here with you, if you asked him to?"

"Hell, I ain't comin' back here—"

"People here need you, Merle. It's clear to me that Phillip is a sociopath and without a voice of reason here, he'd let people like Crowley run amuck. You fought him on that front and the town took your side, so he had no choice but to lock Crowley up. You exposed Wade for what he was and the town agreed with the treatment of him, so Phillip didn't investigate his death. The people trust you, and you can't abandon them by leaving them in his care."

"Whose care y'suggest I leave 'em in? Milton's?"

"No, not solely, but that's where I have a problem. When I go, I can't take these people with me, even though I want to and need to because they're not safe under Phillip's rule. They need protection from him because they don't know what he is. You do. You know, Milton knows, and so does Guerrero, Erica, Fletcher, and a small handful of others. I know you say you don't care about what happens to this town, but we both know that's bullshit. Even for Daryl, you can't just leave people with Phillip in control."

"So basically, _you_ can get away from all this, but I gotta be the responsible adult an' come back to it, is that it?" asked Merle furiously.

"One of us has to because we're the only ones who will take action. I'm asking you now if you would be willing to come back here, with or without your brother, to remove Phillip from power to ensure that the town will be safe."

Merle didn't respond immediately. The words were there on his tongue, but Andrea could see him fighting that internal battle he always seemed to be locked in combat with. The demon that had plagued his body for so long was fighting to get back in as his new set of morals kept it at bay. And though the words that came from his lips said otherwise, Andrea knew he had emotional investment in this town. "No, I ain't willin' t'do that. I ain't givin' up my freedom for these people."

"You already have."

/ /

Andrea was grateful that the Governor wasn't at the wall the next morning when she and Merle set off, because if he had been, she was sure that he would have found a reason to make her stay. Still, she couldn't get Merle moving fast enough as they headed out the gate and up the road on foot. The goodbyes that she hadn't said still weighed heavily on her mind, but she had to be optimistic and hope that she would see these people again when the Governor was no longer in charge. Even if it meant convincing Rick, Michonne, and the others to help her, Andrea had to find some way to liberate Woodbury from the Governor's tyranny.

She etched the faces of Milton, Erica, Tate, and all of the others into her brain, determined not to forget them if things didn't turn out like she hoped and praying that they would forgive her for not saying a proper farewell. She had tried to start saying goodbye to Milton, feeling that of all of them, he deserved an explanation most, but she couldn't get the words out because he had treated her with a cold distance for reasons she couldn't explain. She wanted to hug him, but she couldn't get close enough, and he had taken off before she could anyway.

So she walked alongside Merle, no longer in high spirits as she had been yesterday, but filled with dread at the prospect before her. They had set out earlier today to give them more time to get to the gas station and wait instead of risking the possibility of showing up late and running out of time. The walk seemed to take both a shorter and longer amount of time: shorter because of Andrea's anticipation to finally be back with her friends, her family, but also longer because she was left to mull over her own tormenting thoughts.

When they arrived at the gas station, they sat down with their backs to the outside wall, facing west. Merle wasn't in much of a mood to talk to her after her refusal to tell him what had upset her the night before, but she didn't mind. Her fling with Merle had been impulsive, and more of her body reacting than her mind. She had gone a long time without feeling a man and Merle had met her body's desire—though he had surprised her in more ways than one. Regardless, she couldn't have that kind of attachment to him anymore, especially if he was to return to Woodbury and she wasn't. She had to make him think that their one night together had been nothing but a one-night stand and she hoped that the Governor would buy that.

"We've got movement," said Merle after a while, standing up and pulling out his sidearm to aim it at the direction from which they had come instead of the direction Michonne had arrived from yesterday.

"Walker?" asked Andrea.

"Nope, footsteps sound too deliberate. There's more'n one, too, and whoever they are, they're human."

No sooner had he spoken that someone burst out of the trees and fell in a heap on the forest floor. Andrea had her own pistol halfway out of her holster before she realized who it was and she shouted so that Merle would know not to fire.

"Oh, I don't _believe_ this!"

"Y'dumb-as-shit speck've cow manure!" Merle cursed.

"Milton," said Andrea incredulously, "What the hell are you doing here? Did you follow us?"

"No," said Milton in a transparent lie, but he didn't even have the decency to look ashamed at how feeble it was, and he looked even less guilty at the presence of his traveling companions: Erica, Tate, and Wes, the last of whom had a rather pleased expression on his face.

"I'm actually getting pretty good at this tracking stuff. Not as good as Merle, but I've got the hang of it now."

"This is not happening," said Andrea, losing her patience with her friends completely. "You all need to leave right now."

"You need to answer some questions first," said Erica.

"Movement," said Merle again, twisting around to face northwest and Andrea's fear that her Woodbury friends would discover Rick's group mingled with her excitement to see a visual manifestation of her liberation from the place she now hated. But it wasn't Rick, Michonne, or even Daryl who came out of the bushes.

It was Elliot, and he looked like shit.


	22. Chapter 22: Pit Stop

**MERLE**

In the days since the attack on Woodbury, Elliot lost a considerable amount of weight so that he looked malnourished and now had hollowed, bruised-looking eyes as well as faintly grey skin. In an attempt to bind a cut across his forehead, he'd slashed one of his shirt sleeves off and tied it around his head so that he was sporting some sort of Rambo look. He'd hacked off most of his salt-and-pepper hair with his carving knife and he held that same knife defensively in his good hand as he glanced between Merle and the others like they were biters. Replacing the alert, calculated, and slightly worried look that had always been present in his eyes was now complete chaos, deliriousness, even madness, and it was for this reason that Merle didn't lower his sidearm as Elliot staggered in closer.

"Elliot, put the knife down," said Milton calmly, though he also had a hand on his pistol. "We're not going to hurt you."

"Do you recognize us?" asked Erica in a tone that Merle thought should be reserved for people in a mental hospital.

"Stop talking to me like that," said Elliot in a frenzied, panicked voice. "The only way I've been able to survive out here is by staying sane, so cut that shit out."

"What happened to you?" asked Wes. "Why didn't you come back when the gunfire stopped?"

Elliot waved his knife unsteadily and there was another flash of insanity in his face as he cracked a grin. "I got 'em. The two who made a run for it. I got 'em good…but there were biters. Too many to fight off, and they were blocking the way back, so I had to try and get around them. I got lost in the dark and had to hide. Only able to start back this morning. What are you all doing out here?"

"My question, exactly," said Andrea, shooting a cold look at Milton and the others. "Why'd you follow us?"

Erica, Tate, and Wes turned to Milton expectantly, but Milton wasn't telling, shuffling his feet as he took far too much of an interest in the pinecones on the ground.

"Milton," said Andrea sharply. "You'd better tell me or so help me—"

"Boy, if you turned Peepin' Tom on me, I'll carve your eyes out," said Merle in a threat that he found far more effective as Milton dug a scrap of paper out of his pocket and held it out for them to see. It was aged just like the roll Michonne had left for Merle to find, but quite smaller. Merle strode over and snatched it out of Milton's hand to find Michonne's slanted handwriting on it.

 _Follow Andrea. Keep her safe._

Merle caught Milton's eye and the latter was silently pleading with him to not reveal the paper's contents to Andrea, but that would be an extremely difficult thing to do.

"What's it say?" asked Andrea promptly.

"Says for Miltie here t'meet Michonne. Says that Miltie needed t'follow us t'know where your BFF wanted t'meet 'im," Merle lied, stuffing the paper into one of his pockets.

Taking advantage of Andrea's gobsmacked look, Milton summoned Elliot to him and set about to tending to his head wound.

"I don't believe that Michonne would ask him to come here," said Andrea. "She doesn't know him and has no reason to trust him and furthermore, how could she get a message to him? If it was so easy, she could have gotten a message directly to me and not—"

Merle made an angry hissing noise to cut her off before she revealed that Merle had helped her.

"What?" asked Andrea, placing her hands on her hips defensively.

"Can you just accept the fact that I'm here and not question it like you question everything else?" asked Milton, soaking Elliot's headband in some water from his canteen and using it to dab at the congealed blood. "The cut doesn't look too bad, but we should get you back to Woodbury just to—"

With the fastest reflexes Merle had seen the man use to date, Milton freed his pistol from its holster and fired off a round at a biter that had come around the side of the gas station. The shot sounded deafening in the quietness of the woods and Merle was about to start swearing at Milton when two more biters stumbled into view from the road. Tate and Wes went to dispatch them as Andrea and Erica turned their attention to another three emerging from the direction Michonne had come from the day before.

Another shot went off close to Merle's ear and this time he really did swear at Milton, aiming a kick at Milton's leg as he heard the echo ringing inside his head. Milton had put down a biter that was taking advantage of Merle's unguarded back, but Merle didn't have the patience with Milton to be grateful when he was afraid that he might have lost his hearing in his right ear.

"Asshole! I tolja not t'shoot next t'someone's ear! When I get my hands on you—"

Milton looked like he was about to show Merle a rude hand gesture, but just then Elliot grabbed Milton by the bangs and pulled him aside so that the biter behind Milton fell upon Elliot instead, biting into the muscled flesh of Elliot's bicep. Merle's hearing returned in time for him to hear one long, high-pitched shriek, and then any sense of reason that Elliot had left abandoned him as he went into a panic attack and began to hyperventilate.

Milton stabbed the attacking biter in the base of the brain and then grabbed Elliot's good arm, dragging him toward the gas station door. Wes and Tate each took one of Elliot's legs to assist in carrying him inside. Andrea and Erica went next, calling to Merle to get his ass through the door so they could barricade it. Merle dodged between two biters that had their arms extended to clothesline him and then made a horizontal dive through the doorway. As soon as he had cleared it, the others began piling up everything within reach to keep the biters out. Stools, boxes of tools, and the moveable shelves were crammed against the door, and to their immense relief, their blockade held, but Elliot was still screeching in agony so that every biter in the vicinity would come to investigate the source of noise.

Propping his head up in her lap, Erica tried to put her hand over his mouth, but that wasn't enough to stifle his cries.

"Take off your belt," Merle told Milton sharply.

"My belt? What for?"

"Now!" Merle took the axe from Tate as Milton pulled his belt free of its loops and held it out to Merle. "No, y'dumbass, you gotta tie it, I only got one hand. Tie it just there, above the bite, tight as y'can. The rest've y'all, hold 'im. He's gonna thrash."

"You're not…" said Erica, looking green at the prospect of what Merle was about to do.

"Betcher ass I am. Y'all keep y'fingers outta the way, but _hold 'im._ "

Elliot calmed down just long enough to see what was coming and he went into a panicked frenzy, fighting to get free as Andrea, Milton, Erica, Tate, and Wes took hold of him and put all of their body weight on him. Merle picked out his spot on Elliot's maimed arm, but before he could strike, Elliot gave a jerk of his body that pulled all five of his holders with him.

"Hold 'im still, dammit!"

"Elliot, shut the fuck up!" Wes shouted, but Elliot was beyond recall now, thrashing on the floor and screaming.

Tate stuffed his clean, unused knife in Elliot's mouth to prevent him from biting his tongue in half, but Elliot's cries were still quite loud.

"Merle, cut it," Andrea yelled, now lying completely flat on Elliot's legs to prevent them from kicking Merle in the head.

Merle swung the axe high and everyone leaned away as he brought it down into the soft, stringy flesh along Elliot's arm. The first swing was strong enough to sink right through several layers of skin and cut a few centimeters into the bone, splattering Merle, Milton, and Erica in blood, but after the first swing, Elliot spat out the knife and the agony in his voice was enough to jerk Merle out of reality to another flashback.

He knelt on the gravel-spread rooftop, knowing that sitting upright in a semi-ready position would help him keep his wits. He drew the hacksaw through the flesh and bone just below his wrist, clamping his teeth over a wadded up section of his shirt to protect his own tongue as he cursed and screamed. The dozens of tiny metallic teeth ripped through him and his body fought against itself to both push through the pain and stop while he still had both hands. But there were biters just feet away, scrabbling to break through the door and get to him, and he wasn't going to die today. His will was stronger than that…

" _Merle!_ " Milton hollered, and Merle snapped back into reality, bringing the axe completely through the rest of the bone and the few strands of tissue clinging together.

Elliot called Merle one of the most unique swearwords Merle had ever heard and then cranked his vocal box up to full volume as if he hadn't already been screaming at the top of his lungs. Merle dropped the axe and punched Elliot twice in the cheek, knocking him out cold.

The sounds of fingernails clawing at the metal door was enough to make Merle need to grit his teeth and he stood up, making his way to the back of the store to look for a place to wash some of the blood off of him while he and the others waited out the gaggle of biters and hoped that Elliot could stay alive until they could move him out.

/ /

Forty-five minutes later, the pounding and scratching at the door had only intensified and showed no signs of letting up while the door had started to bend inward under the weight of all the bodies pressed against it. Meanwhile, Elliot's bleeding stump of an arm had been kept tied off, but he continued to bleed and they couldn't risk making a fire to cauterize his wound—even if they did start a fire, the shock of hot metal to his exposed flesh could kill him. Merle had been able to endure that sort of pain himself, but Elliot was smaller, more frail, and in no way, shape, or form, prepared to deal with the pain.

Elliot was, however, starting to wake up, and to keep him quiet once he was fully aware of his surroundings, Merle started combing the back shelves for any painkillers that might be left. He found a small bottle of Tylenol and dumped five capsules into his hand as he took a knee beside Elliot.

"Hey," said Erica softly, stroking his hair as his eyes came into focus.

"I don't wanna look—i-it's gone, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is."

"Great, I'm gonna go ahead and pass out again."

"Open up first, soprano boy," said Merle, holding the pills against Elliot's mouth.

Elliot tried to turn his face away, but Merle was relentless. "Hey, we've gotta get movin' here if we wanna save your ass, but we can't have ya screamin' the whole time, so you're gonna swallow the damn pills, or I'mma force 'em down your throat, capiche?"

Glaring at Merle, Elliot opened his mouth and Merle chucked the pills in, holding his canteen up to Elliot's lips to help ease the pills down his throat.

"Alright, people, gather 'round an' listen good, 'cause we ain't got much time before them biters break the door in. We're gonna use what we got an' rig ourselves up a makeshift stretcher t'carry this one," he motioned at Elliot, "back t'Woodbury. While that's happenin', I'mma take one other person with me out the windows an' we're gonna split left an' right, get the biters t'follow us so we clear up the doorway for the rest've y'all t'haul ass."

He and Wes found two long poles in the back storage closet that they strung a tarp on, knotting it several times over with duct tape and bungee cords. As one, Merle and the others lifted Elliot onto the tarp and tested its ability to hold his weight. After deeming their creation successful, Merle sized up his fellow survivors to figure out which one would help him draw the biters off.

"How's your runnin' skills, Miltie?"

"Not the best," Milton admitted. "I was never properly diagnosed with asthma, but Dr. Stephens observed that I might have exercise-induced asthma, so running falls into the category of exercise—"

"Shuddap," said Merle. "Forget it, you stay here. Tate, you're next up. You'll follow me out the window, take the right, an' draw 'em out t'you. There's a river 'bout a quarter've a mile east; lead 'em there, make sure they start t'follow you in, an' then double back. The bank'll make it harder for 'em t'climb back out. I'll lead 'em out left. Meanwhile, the rest've y'all start carryin' Elliot back t'Woodbury."

Tate had appealed to Wes, his bulbous eyes growing even wider in fear as he signed something to his brother. Wes whispered something to his twin that Merle couldn't hear, but the terrified expression on Tate's face as he hung onto Wes's words reminded Merle of that night when he had stashed Daryl down in the cellar. Even with Tate being a few minutes younger than Wes instead of ten years younger, he relied on his slightly older brother to alleviate his fears and offer words of comfort.

"This isn't like that," said Wes. "You killed her because you had to."

Tate's hands were nearly a blur as he signed to Wes. If he didn't already have a face akin to a scolded puppy, Merle would have thought he detected tears brimming in Tate's eyes.

"I promise, we'll make it. You won't have to do that for any of us."

"I'll go," said Milton suddenly to the surprise of all. "I'll run with Merle so Tate can stay here. He's stronger than me anyway; it's only logical that he helps carry Elliot. I'd be even less use doing that than trying to outrun the biters, so I'll go."

Despite being scared shitless, Tate tried to protest, but Milton waved him off.

"Milton, you can't breathe if you walk too fast up the four steps leading into your room," said Erica. "How do you expect to outrun biters if you get winded just by walking?"

"I don't," said Milton with a swallow. "But we don't have much of a choice, do we?"

"Oh, not you don't," said Andrea. "You help carry Elliot. _I'll_ go with Merle."

"I can't let you do that."

"Let me? Since when is it your decision to allow me to do something or not?"

"Since I got us all into this shitfest by attracting all the biters in the area when I fired off that first shot," said Milton stoutly. "This is my goddamn choice, so get the hell out of my face!"

Merle could only remember being completely stunned for words two or three times in his life, but Milton's response to Andrea made it an even four times. No one had expected that outburst from Milton toward anyone except Merle because Merle and Milton had developed a reputation as Woodbury's go-to squabbling duo. The first time Milton had cursed at him, Merle was a bit surprised, but nevertheless pleased that Milton had the balls to resort to crude language instead of trying to impress his extensive vocabulary on Merle, but for him to speak to Andrea like she was Merle was a whole other level of shocking.

"There's a time for growin' a naughty mouth, son, and it ain't now," said Merle. "Y'comin' or not?"

"I'm coming," said Milton with a determined finality, and he followed Merle to the window.

"Y'all be ready. Soon's we get movin', block up the window behind us an' wait for the doorway t'clear, then get them asses movin'. Don't stop 'til you're inside the gates."

Tate signed to Merle and Milton.

"Did he say be careful?"

"He said 'don't die', but it's basically the same thing," said Wes. "Good luck—both of you." The relief on his face was evident of the fact that he owed Milton for taking his brother's place, but at the same time, he didn't look too sure that he'd ever be able to pay Milton back if Milton got himself killed. Wes, like everyone else here, doubted Milton's ability to stay alive, but Merle was hoping for all of their sakes that everyone else was wrong.

He pushed open the window and climbed out, reaching back in to pull Milton out before slamming the window shut and shouting at the biters congregated at the door to follow him. Milton broke left, raising an equal racket to draw off more of the biters. There was initial confusion as the biters tried to decide which of the men looked more appetizing, but in the end, their numbers split almost equally and followed Merle and Milton. As Merle backed up, he saw Milton letting the biters get dangerously close as he continued to shout at them.

"Quit yammerin', and run for it, son!" Merle hollered.

The second in which he had taken his eyes off of the biters, he had misstepped and fallen into a small ditch between the road and the gas station. With eight biters only feet away, he had to sacrifice his bullets and started to fire, taking each one down with careful, calculated shots, but as he came upon the seventh, his pistol jammed and he had to slice his right arm wide to cut the biter down before it could chomp through his face.

The last biter seemed to materialize right behind the seventh, leaving Merle no time to react or defend himself in any way.

"Merle, get down!"

Merle threw himself onto the ground and heard the _zip_ of an arrow as it embedded itself in the biter, pinning it upright to the tree behind it through its eye socket. Merle got to his feet and turned to see his savior.

"Nice shot, little brother."


	23. Chapter 23: Acceptance

**MILTON**

Drawing the biters away from the gas station door had been the easy part; keeping a pace that would put him a safe distance in front of them as they pursued was an entirely different matter. A quarter of a mile wasn't that far to run, but running wasn't Milton's strong suit, so he had to alternate fast walking and three yard dashes to stay ahead of his followers. In no time he came upon the river and after pausing to try and remember how to swim while also wondering if the river was deep enough that he would need to, he skidding down into the riverbank and then waded into the water, which only came up to his hips. As he moved off to the side, working with the current so that he could gain some ground, the biters began to clumsily plummet into the water after him. He dug his heels into the riverbed and clawed his way out of the water, scrambling for the bank again.

As he fought to get a firm hold on the weeds growing out of the side so that he could pull himself up, he heard some of the biters sloshing out of the water behind him. Flipping onto his back, he readied his pistol, praying to whoever had granted him such a lucky and accurate shot earlier to pay him another visit.

"Give me your hand!"

Milton saw a long shimmer of steel above him reflecting the sun's light and reached up to the gloved fingers extended out to him. The hand clasped his and pulled, but he had to work just as hard, scrabbling for traction in the muddy bank as his rescuer leaned back to offer additional tension. Finally, Milton collapsed face-down in the grass, choking on the dry and painful ache in his throat as he fought for breath.

"Thank you," he gasped out.

"We need to keep moving, head back to the station. The others are waiting," said Michonne.

Milton sat up on his knees, took in a few steady breaths, and then stood up. "The others?"

"Your group, my group," said Michonne simply. "Let's go."

"Just one question: how did you get the note to me and how did you know that I would do as you asked?"

Michonne didn't look at him as they started off on the short trek back to the station. She kept her sword out, eyes prowling the woods around them for any sign of biters. "I thought that was obvious."

"Perhaps, but humor me."

"I'd gone back to Woodbury to see what the state of the town was in and saw you and Merle on the back wall. I heard you arguing and heard what you were arguing about, which was Andrea. I don't know to what level he cares about her, but I seen the way they looked at each other yesterday and—"

"Yesterday?"

"You want me to tell you or not?" asked Michonne brusquely.

"Sorry," Milton muttered.

"I know he feels something for her, otherwise he wouldn't have brought her along. But I heard you sticking up for her and call me crazy, but as awkward as you are, your side of the argument sounded more genuine to me. So I tied the message around the walker's neck and sent them at you, knowing that you'd have to collect the bodies and hoping that you'd get my message. It was risky, especially with that other guard who took Merle's place, but I wanted insurance on the whole Merle situation."

"You mean that after you tried to kill me the last time we met, you wanted a favor from me?" asked Milton incredulously.

"You're here, aren't you?" Michonne challenged. "You were clueless the last time we met. You thought the Governor actually wanted me to help you, but when I exposed him to you for what he was, you started to see that you'd been played. I was only going to hurt you, not kill you, if I had to. You can thank Merle for that scar on your neck because he wanted to be the hero while the rest of your people disarmed themselves to save you. But you came here because you care about Andrea and that makes you alright in my book, so now that I've saved you, I think we can put the past behind us."

Milton was about to say that he didn't think so, but they had arrived back at the gas station and he saw three other people with his group. Andrea rushed out to meet them and hug Michonne who accepted the hug somewhat stiffly as if she wasn't anymore used to affection than Milton was. There was longing in Andrea's face as if she wanted to say something to Milton, but he didn't give her the chance; he still wasn't feeling exceptionally warm toward her because of how she had shunned him, lied to him, and belittled him.

Introductions to Michonne's people were made and Milton got his first impression of Merle's brother, Daryl, who was definitely younger, but not necessarily meaner than his big brother. If anything, Daryl looked like the sort of man Merle might have been if an asshole gene didn't run in Merle's family.

"Your man's hurt too badly to take 'im back on foot," said Rick as he glanced at Elliot who was sweating profusely and looking drained of blood. "We're parked not far up the road; we can take 'im back to our camp and have our man look at 'im."

"Or you could drive us back to Woodbury," Erica suggested.

"We're not goin' that way," said Rick. "We don't trust your people. If you wanna save 'im, you'll let us take 'im back with us. We just got through a similar situation ourselves; we know how to deal with this."

"If it's all the same to the rest of you, I want to live," said Elliot weakly.

"They'll take care of him," Andrea promised Erica. "Trust me. I'll go with them and make sure of it."

"We can't take all've you," said Rick. "You four," he pointed to Milton, Tate, Wes, and Erica, "go back home. Andrea and Merle'll come with us—"

"Merle's not coming with us," said Glenn and for some reason, he was staring daggers at Merle who gave an innocent shrug.

"Now what'd I ever do t'you, boy?"

"Merle comes with us or I don't go back," said Daryl in his brother's defense.

"So does Milton," said Michonne, for which Milton was surprised.

"What d'we need him for?" asked Rick.

"I know the Governor best out of everyone here," said Milton. "If such an occurrence should happen that he finds out about you, I could assure him that you pose no threat and that he need not seek you out. Andrea's told me that you're good people, and I believe her, but I'm not an experienced liar and the Governor will be able to tell if I haven't actually been to your camp to make that judgment."

"He _is_ harmless," said Andrea helpfully, though Milton wasn't sure if that was a compliment or a slight to his combative abilities.

"Fine, but we gotta move now while this guy still has a pulse," said Rick.

"You know I can _hear_ you," said Elliot indignantly.

"Wes, take 'em back t'Woodbury, an' don't none've y'all say nothin'," said Merle. "Governor don't need t'know 'bout this just yet. If he asks, tell 'im y'got separated from Miltie an' say nothin' else."

"And what if he sends us right back out to look for Milton, Andrea, and you?" questioned Erica, grasping Elliot's hand. Milton noticed how she had not let go of him since Merle took off Elliot's arm and though it wasn't his place to say, he was exceptionally glad that Guerrero was not here to see this because like Merle, Guerrero's temper ran on a short fuse.

"Let 'im. He ain't gonna find us. Don't mention Elliot neither, just in case. Y'all git goin' now."

Milton could not have said why, but Tate was insistent on hugging Andrea before he, his brother, and Erica departed, and Andrea had reserved a smile for him, one that looked far too solemn for Milton's liking.

"Everyone grab a hold've the pole. Glenn, on point with me. Daryl, Michonne, you got the back. Let's move, people," said Rick, taking hold of the front of Elliot's makeshift stretcher. Milton, Andrea, and Merle all joined in and together, the seven of them jogged for wherever their vehicle transport awaited.

/ /

"Aw, hell…" said Merle through clenched teeth as they came upon what was clearly a low-level security prison.

Milton, Merle, Andrea, and Daryl sat in the bed of a pickup truck while the others sat up front. Elliot had been placed between Milton and Merle to keep him from rocking about during the ride, but he still looked like he was on death's doorstep now that his eyes had rolled into the back of his head, giving him a half possessed, half skeletal quality.

"What's wrong?" asked Andrea.

"I done my time in prison, man, I ain't goin' in there," said Merle, and if Milton didn't know him better, he would have said that Merle looked ready to fling himself out of a moving vehicle to avoid going through the prison gates, but Daryl shot Merle a look of warning and Merle swore.

Rick drove them up the pathway to the inner courtyard by way of two gates, both of which were manned by more people. When they arrived in the courtyard, Rick ordered everyone out and then they gently slid Elliot across the flatbed before hoisting him back up on the tarp and carrying him through a caged doorway to what looked like a cross between a washroom and a cafeteria. During the drive, Rick had communicated with his doctor that they were bringing in a man in need of medical care, and as Milton stumbled down the stairs still carrying Elliot, he saw an old man on crutches waiting at one of the tables with medical supplies strewn out on a gurney.

"Who the hell's he?" asked a woman by his side, holding up her revolver at Milton.

Instantaneously, Andrea and Michonne moved in front of Milton while Rick went to the woman and told her to lower her guard.

"He's clear, we checked 'im. Hershel, do your thing. The rest've you, follow me. And you," Rick singled out Milton so that he felt like he was in a very bright spotlight, "take a good look around."

Milton did, and what he saw appalled him. These people, so desperate for shelter, had transformed the cell block into suitable living quarters, but it was still no place to live for anyone. The smell of the dead still lingered and some blood stains hadn't come off of the floor. What supplies they had been able to scavenge were stacked in one cell and everyone else had doubled up on foul-smelling bunks in the others. Even as he saw the extremes these people had gone to in order to secure the prison, Milton couldn't imagine what it had cost them to clear the place. Back when Woodbury was in its beginning stages, Phillip had told Milton that the prison was overrun and it had since been marked as part of the danger zone, but this small group of people had taken it back because they had nowhere else to go.

And if they had come up to Woodbury's gates, armed and dejected-looking as Milton saw them now, he knew that Phillip would have Rick, Glenn, and possibly Daryl executed and order the others to assimilate or risk the same fate.

"How long have you been here?" asked Milton.

"Since summer started, so nearly two and a half months," said a young blonde woman who bore a striking resemblance to the woman who had pulled the gun on him. She carried a blue bundle in her arms and upon closer inspection, Milton saw that there was a baby nestled there. He had seen two babies since coming to Woodbury, but both of them had the best living conditions possible whereas this baby was not likely to live another few weeks in such a disease-ridden place.

The young woman managed to hold out a hand to Milton to shake, but as Milton took it, he heard Elliot shout from the next room.

"Goddammit, what the hell are you doing in there?" he cried.

"What I can, and it'll be for nothin' if y'don't lie still, son," said Hershel in a level and calming voice.

"It fucking hurts!" Elliot retorted.

"Boy, I'll come back out there an' knock your damn lights out again if y'don't shuddap, don't think I won't," Merle threatened.

"You do and I'll shoot you, Dixon. It's your fault I don't have an arm anymore. You shot me, turned my arm into useless Jell-O, and I lost my reactionary muscles so that the biter got me. Just you wait until I get off of this gurney—"

Milton had to endure several more minutes of Merle and Elliot exchanging insults while Hershel worked on the latter and while he waited, he toured the rest of the cell block. Rick followed close behind him which gave him the feeling that the former sheriff still didn't trust him.

"So, Mister…what's your name again?"

"Milton Mamet, but please, don't call me Mister Mamet."

"Alright then Milton, what d'you have to say about all've this?"

"I'd say that I think it's dangerous for you to continue living here and if I could, I would insist on bringing you back to Woodbury, but we both know that's not safe or advisable, especially with how the Governor operates. He doesn't take kindly to anyone who opposes his leadership and it's only by luck that Merle hasn't been banished or killed with how often he defies orders."

"So you know that we can be a threat if we wanna be, but as long as your Governor stays away from us, we got no problem. We can get our own supplies; we always have."

"But your baby may not have that long. She's susceptible to every illness and infection that's known to man because you don't have the means to treat her."

"If you're suggestin' I give up my daughter to let some strangers take her into a town run by a psychopath—"

"Rick, I need you back out here," called Hershel and with a look that said, _Go to hell,_ Rick went back out into the main room.

Milton followed, but kept his distance as everyone gathered around Hershel's handiwork which found Elliot's arm heavily bandaged and the cut on his head stitched up, but he still looked dangerously pale. He kept his eyes closed, but his furrowed brow suggested that he was still conscious and very much aware of the pain he was in.

"He's weak and he needs rest. If he survives the night, he'll be out of danger, but he's lost a lotta blood. I have the means to make a transfusion, but I don't know what his blood type is—"

"O positive," said Milton and everyone looked at him in surprise. "I'm Doctor Stephens's assistant when the situation calls for it and I memorized all of Woodbury's citizens' blood types. Elliot has O positive."

"Well, that's all fine'n dandy, but unless anybody else here's got O positive, that don't help none," said Merle.

"I do," said Andrea. "Start the transfusion, Hershel." She rolled up her sleeve and held out her forearm to Hershel who ran an IV into Elliot and then fed the other end into Andrea.

"Maggie, honey, go get Andrea some've them canned peaches. She needs t'eat if she's gonna be givin' as much blood as this man needs t'stay alive and while we're on the subject, I gotta be realistic with you who know 'im best." Hershel appealed to Milton, Andrea, and Merle. "He won't survive the journey back—at least, not by road and not anytime soon, and if this Governor's as bad've a man as you say he is—"

"He is," said Merle and Andrea together while Milton said nothing.

"Then we can't risk lettin' him know that we're out here, so we can't be pullin' up at your gates with Elliot in the flatbed. I'm afraid your friend's gonna have to stay here."

There was a pregnant pause, broken only by Elliot's shallow breathing, but then the man himself made the decision for them.

"I'll stay."

"Y'don't know any've these people," Merle protested.

"I know that they just saved my life when they didn't need to. I know that if I go back, I'm putting myself through hell to work under that son of a bitch who's the reason I'm in this mess. I had to take a bullet for Milton, remember? You're the one who maimed my arm so that the rest of me would stay intact. If I have to sacrifice body parts to stay in the Governor's good books, then to hell with it. I'll stay."

The last of Elliot's energy had been expended to give this proclamation and then he promptly passed out again.

"I'm staying too," said Andrea. "And not just to give Elliot the blood he needs. I can't go back to Woodbury now that I've found my friends. I don't belong there and I'm not safe there, not with the Governor prowling around and asking me where I think my friends might be."

Some sort of understanding passed between Andrea and Merle and Milton realized that Merle had suspected that this would be her decision all along. Even worse, Merle had _known_ that she would choose to leave Woodbury; that's why the two of them had gone scouting two days in a row. They had planned to meet with Rick and Michonne and Andrea had already decided to go with Michonne.

"Andrea, Woodbury needs you—"

"No, it doesn't," said Andrea firmly. "Woodbury needs _you_ , Milton. The Governor listens to what you say, even if he doesn't act on it right away. He doesn't respect my decisions."

"But—"

"She said she's stayin', man, let it go," said Merle and Milton was surprised to hear a tone of hurt in his voice.

"And what about you?" Milton questioned. "You've found your brother; do you plan on staying too?"

"I tolja, I ain't stayin' in no prison. I know a good thing when I see it, so it'll be the happy road home t'Woodbury for me, boy."

"And is Daryl planning on going with you?"

At the mention of Daryl, the group around Milton shifted and Rick summoned Daryl to the other room. Hershel told Andrea to hold the IV while it fed into Elliot and followed the rest of the group as they congregated on the other side of the prison bars to discuss their situation. Not one to be left out, Merle followed them, leaving Milton to stand idly by and watch blood seep through the tube connecting Andrea to Milton.

"Since when has Phillip been asking questions regarding your friends?" asked Milton. "He hardly even talks to you and you've given him no reason to believe that you think Rick and the others are anywhere nearby. What's the real reason that you don't want to go back?"

"It's complicated," said Andrea distractedly.

"No, it's not, and even if it was, I pride myself in being intelligent enough to figure it out. Why won't you come back? After the thing with Hobbs, the people have been looking up to you, trusting you, and I know you're proud of that fact. You're a natural-born leader and they all can see it."

"Phillip saw it too, and he exploited that," said Andrea, bowing her head in shame.

Milton didn't believe Phillip capable of such a thing. Phillip could order Merle to kill someone for no apparent good reason, but to sink so low as to be worthy of Crowley's actions, that just didn't fit Phillip's profile. And yet, Milton had to admit to himself that there was so much about the man that he didn't know.

"Did he touch you?" asked Milton delicately.

"Not like Crowley did, but he would have. And he threatened to kill Merle if I didn't do as he said, so now I'm stuck trying to figure out if I stay here or go back."

"Does Merle know this? Have you told him-?"

"No, of course not. How am I supposed to tell Merle Dixon that Phillip's going to shoot him down in cold blood over a matter of jealousy? How do you think Merle would react if I told him that Phillip wanted to kill him unless I agree to sleep with him because Merle and I spent one night together? He'd go after Phillip himself and turn the entire town on its head."

"He's blackmailing you for sex, Andrea. That's rape, and I won't stand for it."

"Would you stand for it if it were you?"

"What?" asked Milton quickly, though he thought he knew what she was asking.

"If Phillip threatened to kill you unless I let him rape me, would you let it happen? Or better yet, what if you and I were sleeping together and Phillip came to me demanding sex in place of letting you live?"

"B-but we're not," said Milton. "And I refuse to believe that Phillip would threaten Merle out of pure spite because you and Merle are sleeping together."

"We aren't sleeping together. We slept together. Past tense. One time, Milton, and that's all it took. If I go back now, tonight Phillip will expect me to come to him and if I don't, Merle's dead in the morning. If I don't come back at all, well, we're all covered in Elliot's blood. You can say that I was killed."

"I can't lie convincingly—"

"Yes, you can," Andrea insisted, taking Milton's hand. "You have to, for my sake and Merle's. I have to believe that Phillip will believe you if you tell him that I was killed because that's the only way Merle makes it to tomorrow and I will not have his blood on my hands."

"You care about him," said Milton. It wasn't a question.

"Yes, I do. And you, Milton. I've seen you grow over these past few weeks and I know that you're so much more than you think you are, but I also think I'm holding you back somehow and I hope that if I'm not there, you'll have a chance to become who you're supposed to be and not who Phillip wants you to be. You don't need me to help you get there either."

"No, but I would prefer it."

"You probably haven't been told this in a very long time, but I'm going to say it to you now, and I want you to process it before you say anything. There are people in Woodbury I care about like Erica and Tate and the kids, but only two people in that town made me love them and you're one of them. And right now, that's all I can give you because I can't go back. I won't do that to myself when I have another option and I'm hoping that you can accept that."

Acceptance. That was all she wanted from him. That was all Milton had ever wanted from his parents, from a society that didn't find him normal, from Merle, from Phillip, even from these people here in the prison. If Milton couldn't give the one thing he craved most, he was a liar and a hypocrite.

He nodded. "I can accept that."

"Is it alright if I hug you?"

"Of course."

Milton held out his arms to her and embraced her (something that was a bit difficult to manage with her being connected to the tube), but after a quick second or two in which he thought the hug had lasted for a sufficient amount of time, he found that she was still holding on and her body trembled against his.

"Be safe. Don't take any risks, leave the dirty work to Merle, and just—just promise me that you won't leave on your own. Don't come back here looking for me."

"I can't make that promise. You're the only friend I know I have and if you need me, I'll come running—figuratively speaking. That I can promise."

Andrea ran her hand along Milton's cheek and he shivered in a sudden moment of recollection as he imagined his mother caressing his face, telling him that she supported him in his decision to stop being homeschooled and attend a public school. This was the first and last decision he had made that he had her support on, for not one month later, she would be dead, and he would be on his own, living with a foster parent who let him be, buying him gadgets and chemistry sets to work on to keep him occupied.

His mother's affection was the last time he had experienced any sort of loving gesture that he knew was linked by a family bond. Here now with Andrea, he felt that dormant sensation again and had to swallow back the emotion longing to come out his throat. This, this was what he had been missing for so many long years and now that he had managed to salvage a small bit of it at the end of the world, he had to leave it behind.


	24. Chapter 24: The Man on the Rooftop

**ANDREA**

After giving Elliot enough blood to sustain him for a while, Andrea went out to sit in the courtyard and get some sun to revitalize her system. She kept her head to her knees as she sat curled up against the wall, waiting for Merle and Milton to come out and say their final goodbyes. When she heard the door open and footsteps on the catwalk, she glanced up to see Merle walking down by himself.

"Where's Milton?"

"Takin' a piss or somethin'. When he comes out, tell 'im I'll be in the car." Merle held up a set of keys given to him by Rick.

"That's it? Don't you have anything to say?"

"Yeah, sure; it was nice while it lasted. So long."

"Merle, wait—"

"I gotta get back by nightfall—"

"Merle, the Governor blackmailed me. He cornered me yesterday while you were on the evening shift and told me that he'd kill you if I didn't agree to sleep with him. If I go back there, I have to play the submissive housewife and let him rape me every night so that he won't cut off the rest of your limbs and string them up on the flag pole. If that sounds selfish of me, then call me fucking selfish, but I'm not going to let him do that just for you."

Merle didn't even blink when she had finished speaking, but he came within an inch of her face and Andrea had to take a hasty step back as she sensed the hurricane coming. "And when were y'plannin' on tellin' me this, woman? He fuckin' came t'you an' demanded that you let 'im rape you an' y'didn't say nothin'? Is this whatchoo was worried about last night? Dammit, Andrea, I could've killed the son've a bitch then while his punk ass was sleepin'! Why the hell didn't y'say somethin'?"

"That's why," said Andrea, pointing at his face. "You'd have killed him right then and there and then the entire town would be on you for committing murder."

"Well, gee, I think they'd be on my side if they knew I's keepin' him from rapin' people."

"When you go back there, you have to make the right decision and that doesn't involve killing Phillip right off the bat. I won't be there to back up your claim and murdering a man for something he hasn't yet done will get you killed. You have to think this through and not go barging into his apartment like the hot-headed jackass you are half the time."

"Y'didn't seem t'mind when this hot-headed jackass stepped in t'make sure Crowley didn't rape ya, didja?" Merle countered.

"Either you need to get your head on straight, or you can't go back; it's that simple. I won't let your personal feelings be the thing that causes Woodbury to burn to the ground because people there still depend on a capable leader and almost none of them know what kind of man Phillip is. If you go back, you have to pretend like I never told you this, which gives you all the more reason to stay."

"In hell," said Merle, stalking off in a high dudgeon.

"Hey, don't you walk away from me, Merle Dixon, not when we haven't sorted this out yet!" called Andrea, running after him.

"I don't need you t'sort this out an' we're done talkin' about it. What happens in Woodbury don't concern you no more, so piss off."

Andrea caught up with Merle at the back lot where six cars were parked. She balled a fist and as Merle turned around to see why she had followed him, she punched him in the jaw. The movement along with the quick sprint to catch up with him were enough to make her woozy as the effect of donating blood took its toll. She fell forward onto the car hood and then slid right down to the asphalt as her head spun.

"Y'better gimme a damn good reason why y'just hit me—"

"Because you deserved it. You're taking this too personally."

"I'm not either."

"You are," said Andrea, holding her head and scrunching her eyes up in pain. "You're upset that I'm not coming back with you when you knew damn well that I wasn't going to stay in Woodbury once I found the old group. Why the hell did you bring me to meet Michonne if you didn't want me leaving? And what's more, now that you've found your brother, how can you just get in that car and leave him behind? What happened to sacrificing the world just to find Daryl again?"

"Daryl's comin' with me," said Merle. "Got into a big ol' row with Officer Friendly 'cause he chose his kin over them sons'a bitches that left me on the roof."

"I'm one of those people who left you on that roof and you got along with me just fine."

"Y'earned my respect. Them bastards haven't."

"No? Not after saving us at the gas station? Or bringing Daryl back to you? You couldn't ask for better people in this day and age, and yet you're going straight back to Phillip. Tell me how that makes sense."

Merle pounded his fist on top of the car and then swore, waving off the pain in his knuckles as he paced in a circle. "Look, I ain't needed here. I can't do no good with people who can't stand the sight've me. This place's a shithole an' I ain't stayin' in no cell when I got a bed waitin' for me back in Woodbury. I can't stay behind no barred doors again, not when I spent half my life locked up. Don'tchoo tell me I gotta go through all've that shit again just so that I don't gotta leave you behind. Don'tchoo make me think I'd be better off here 'cause I wouldn't be, not now, not ever."

Merle sank down onto the ground next to her and grabbed at his face with his fingernails, digging deep until he drew blood.

"Merle, stop that—"

"I'm not gonna make what's left've my life a livin' hell t'try an' get along with those people in there. An' when I get back t'Woodbury, I'mma bide my time, wait for the Governor t'slip up an' when he does, me'n Daryl are gonna take his ass down."

"I thought you were going to run for it. That was the original plan, wasn't it? To find Daryl and leave Woodbury behind so you could go back to whatever the hell it was that you did before you found the group in Atlanta?"

"I ain't stupid. Y'don't run when y'got a good place t'hole up. An' I don't care who y'are, y'don't leave kids with someone like the Governor in charge, lettin' child molesters an' abusers an' rapists roam 'round. I ain't puttin' up with that shit, but outta everyone here at this prison, I'm the only one who can do somethin' about it 'cause I know how the bastard thinks an' now I know what he's after."

Merle gave Andrea a meaningful look and shook his head to himself.

"So you're going back to Woodbury so that you don't have to live with Rick and the others, but also because you feel responsible for Nathan, Nina, and the other people who've been victimized by Phillip, is that it?"

"Somethin' like that," said Merle, fiddling with the strap on his metal shell attachment.

"Now do you want to try to tell me that that illness you had a few days ago had nothing to do with these drastic changes in your initial plans?" asked Andrea slyly. "I've seen you working up to this moment right here. Everyone you've stuck up for, everything you've done that I've seen since then—it's all been a result of you realizing that you can't be selfish anymore. You're not just going back to Woodbury to avoid Rick and the others; you feel wanted there, and that's something you've never felt before."

"Oh, bullshit. If you're tryin'a tell me that it was for my own good that them assholes left me on the roof so that I could get m'hand cut off, nearly die've dehydration an' blood loss t' come t'Woodbury an' start givin' two shits about the people there, then I'mma call you out on that pile've—"

"I don't think you'd be the same person if you stayed with us the first time through," said Andrea, and she knew that she was right. There was an evilness to the man she had seen on the rooftop, made so by circumstance and self-entitlement. Whatever Merle's father had done to him as a child, he had had to fend for himself all of his life and after surviving his struggle for so long, he felt that it was his duty to put everyone in their place. The look on Merle's face after he had beaten the shit out of T-Dog was one that she had never seen on any other human's face before, not even Crowley's, Phillip's, or Hobbs's.

That awful person she had hated so much for what he had done both physically and verbally to she and her friends was more terrifying than even the walkers. She loathed the walkers because they had caused this horrific living nightmare, but they were masses of empty bodies left with one purpose and it wasn't an intentional purpose. In that moment in Atlanta, she had wanted to take her gun and empty its bullets into Merle Dixon because he was the epitome of evil, the very embodiment of it. He would have killed T-Dog and half the others, maybe even taken liberties with Andrea himself if he hadn't been stopped by Rick. He was in full awareness of his actions as well, and that was unforgiveable. Despite knowing that she had left him to die on that rooftop and then finding out that he had escaped, Andrea had hoped and prayed that Merle never found his way back to the group because she feared him more than she did the walkers. She feared the Merle Dixon from one year ago more than she did Phillip or Crowley, and with good reason; a year ago, she was not the same woman capable of the things she could do now. A year ago, she would probably already be a victim of assault by people like Phillip and Crowley—and the old Merle Dixon.

But she had changed because continued existence on this earth demanded that she do it. And Merle had gone through those changes bit by bit as well, the last stages of which Andrea had been a part of. She could not have foreseen herself sitting beside him now and hoping that he would stay for his own sake and for hers. She could not have guessed in any number of years that she would have lay with this same man and cared whether or not he walked foolishly to his death. His face was not even the same as the man's who had glared at her and the others in Atlanta, daring them to try and challenge him as he knelt over T-Dog with his gun pulled. Perhaps the look of pure malevolence still existed within Merle now, reserved for Phillip and anyone who would seek to take what he had, but Andrea hoped to never have to see it again.

"I don't know what kinda person I'd be neither," said Merle. "I don't like who I am now, but I hated who I was. All I know's that I can't stay here, an' if I can't stay here, I might as well go back an' get the damn thing done right this time. I dunno how long it'll take, but one way or another, the Governor's gonna die before I do."

"You do realize that by bringing Daryl back and showing Phillip that you have a true ally now, he'll be watching you closer than ever? Phillip knows that you and Guerrero and Fletcher share a lot of the same views, but he doesn't see the three of you and the others like Erica and Tate as a legitimate threat because none of you will band together against him. If you want to take him out, you have to show the town by unity that he can't be trusted."

"I'll think've somethin'," said Merle distractedly. "An' somehow, I'll letcha know when it's finished."

"No," said Andrea, reaching over and taking Merle's wrist. He flinched away from her, but after sharing a bed with him, he had no right to resent her touching him. "Listen to me, Merle. If you find yourself in trouble, if you even have reason to doubt that you can do this, you send word to me and I'll be there to help. With or without Rick's help, I'll help you."

Merle tried to distract himself from Andrea's touch by glancing westward to see the sun beginning to sink over the treetops. "Shit. I gotta get goin'." He wriggled his wrist out of her grasp, stood up, and punched the car horn twice to let Daryl and Milton know that they needed to leave before offering out his hand to Andrea to pull her up.

"Do me a favor," said Andrea and Merle raised an annoyed eyebrow at her as if he already knew what she was about to ask. "He'll need the protection and you can't tell me he won't. But he's not useless and he's already proven that he's on your side, so don't shut him out. Please, Merle, whatever it is about him that you hate, it's not a good enough reason to shun him and treat him the way you do. He's saved my life as well as yours."

"An' I saved his ass more times than I got fingers."

"If you won't do it for me, do it for Woodbury. There wouldn't be a Woodbury if not for Milton."

Merle scoffed and rubbed at his jaw which had a knuckle-shaped bruise forming on it. "I ain't gonna forget this."

"Good. It'll remind you that I'm still here if you need me. And tell Erica and the others that Elliot's in good hands—if he survives."

"He will," Merle assured her. "I already tried t'kill 'im once; he just don't die."

"Don't say things like that or I'll punch you in the other side of your face," said Andrea, smacking Merle across the forearm. "I mean it, let the others know that Elliot will be safer with me. He's already made a friend in Hershel."

"That old timer'd make friends with anyone—"

"He wouldn't. He didn't open up to us for weeks and we ran across people who he downright hated. But he spoke to you the same way he always talked to me, which means that he likes you too. Take that into consideration."

"Whatever."

Merle hit the horn again and held it for a three-count before shouting, "Y'all better getcher asses out here or I'm takin' off withoutcha!"

"One more thing: I've discussed this with Milton, but you need to come up with a plausible story on how you lost me and found Daryl. You could say that I was eaten—"

"That shit's not gonna fly with the Governor. He knows I'd do whatever I could t'getchoo back in one piece, so if I ain't even got a piece've ya t'bring back, he's gonna know somethin's up. I'mma say we lost ya, got separated, but that I'll go out lookin' for ya. When y'don't come back, he's gonna wonder why since y'know your way home, so it'd be nice t'have somethin' t'stall 'im for a while."

"Here," said Andrea, stripping off her overshirt and her pack. She emptied her pack of her few belongings and then handed over it and the shirt to Merle. It helped that both were stained in Elliot's blood, though Phillip need not know that it was Elliot's. "Show him those after a few days and maybe he'll get the message."

"Y'think've everythin', don'tcha, Blondie?"

"If I did, I'd have found some argument to make you and Milton stay here and take Phillip out all at once," said Andrea bitterly.

Milton and Daryl appeared in the doorway and, knowing that she might not ever get the chance again, Andrea stood on tiptoe to put her arms around Merle's neck and kiss him. He didn't kiss her back, but she did feel his hand at her waist and knew that he wasn't ready to give up on her yet. Backing up, Andrea gave Daryl a reassuring nod as he joined Merle in the front of the car, forcing Milton to ride in the back. Milton's hand brushed against hers as he took his seat and he gave her a half-hearted thumbs up, bonking his head on the car door as Merle started driving off before he was fully inside.

T-Dog opened the inner courtyard gate for them and the last Andrea saw of them before the car disappeared down the hill was both Merle watching her in the rearview mirror and Milton turning around to give her a nod of farewell.


	25. Chapter 25: Back to the Barn

**MERLE**

"Why're we stoppin'?" asked Daryl as Merle pulled the car over onto the side of the road, switched off the headlights, and turned off the engine.

"We're gonna wait t'go back 'til mornin'. Gives us more've a reason t'explain how we lost Andrea."

"I thought the plan was to explain to Phillip that we figure she's dead," said Milton from the back seat.

"We could do that an' be called out on our bullshit for it an' get in a loada trouble, or we could let me do the talkin' tomorrow when we get back. Sleep tight back there."

Merle stretched out his legs between the pedals and settled in for the night, leaving Daryl and Milton to find sleep on their own. He had to feign sleep himself whilst listening to Milton toss and turn in the back seat to get comfortable while Daryl crossed his arms and let his chin drop to his chest in the passenger seat beside Merle. When the twisting and alert breathing had subsided into sounds that told him that his brother and Milton had finally conked out, Merle was left with nothing but his thoughts as he reflected on the decisions he had had to make today and how the majority of them might come up to bite him in the ass.

He took out Andrea's bloodied shirt and pack, running his fingers over the vivid red that was thrown into greater relief with the help of the moonlight overhead that streamed in through the window. Merle scrunched up the shirt to use as a pillow by placing it between his head and the window, but as he moved, he saw a biter stumble onto the road ahead and start meandering toward the car. He stayed still, resting his hand on his sidearm as it lumbered closer, but it passed by without even noticing the car. Merle took his hand off of his pistol and instead clutched Andrea's pack, running the fabric between his fingers as he thought of the last kiss she had given him, the first sign of affection she'd shown outside of her bedroom. He didn't know if Daryl or Milton had seen and didn't particularly care, but he wasn't sure what to make of it because for all intents and purposes, what he had hoped would be a longer-lasting encounter with her had turned into a one-night stand, just like all of the others. One and done. But unlike the women Merle had been with in the past, he couldn't just dump Andrea off at a corner store and put the pedal to the metal as he drove away. He had had to face her again the next day and the day after that and instead of kicking a floozy out of his car, he had been punched in the jaw and then kissed by this woman. And not in a way that suggested that Andrea felt sympathetic toward him; she'd really meant something by it, but he couldn't figure out what because he'd never given her cause to believe that he thought of her as anything more than a sexual encounter.

Or had he? He'd never willingly stuck his neck out for women before to the level that he had with Andrea. Maybe it was because he admired her bravery that he pursued her. He wanted a temperament that matched his: dominant, commanding, and strong. Andrea was no damsel and no skank, nor was she fueled by emotions, but the farewell she had given Merle suggested that she had found something more in him that appealed not only to her sexual desires, but her other human wants and she would continue to fight for it.

/ /

He knew the entire town would be eager to find out more about the fabled younger brother of Merle Dixon, but Merle wasn't ready to expose his brother to such overwhelming odds, especially since Daryl didn't like crowds, so he brought the car right up alongside the lab and sent Daryl inside with Milton before anyone could get a good look at him. There would be questions about Andrea asked all around, but before he could answer those, he had to find Erica, Wes, and Tate, and find out what story he was supposed to be sticking to regarding their adventure to the gas station yesterday. Luckily, Wes was waiting for him not two buildings down, polishing his knife in a casual manner that suggested that Merle act the same.

"Find anything?" asked Wes, not looking up.

"Nope," said Merle, shielding his face against the sunlight above.

"Didn't see Elliot or Andrea in the car," said Wes in a lower voice.

"Elliot couldn't survive the trip back," replied Merle in an equally quiet tone "He had t'stay. Andrea stayed 'cause he needed 'er blood type. Brought back Miltie and m'brother. I needta know what y'all told the Governor."

"Story is that we got separated from Milton when we heard gunshots and some biters were drawn in. We never saw you or Andrea or anyone from that other camp. And as far as we know, Elliot's still missing in action."

Merle thanked Wes for the update and then headed back to the lab where sure enough, the Governor was waiting for him, giving Daryl the same type of welcome Merle had been given upon his first arrival twelve months ago. Daryl kept his hand on his crossbow the entire time and the Governor didn't have any backup, but Merle knew he was fast to the draw and thoroughly expected Daryl to try something. Milton was standing nearby, trying and failing to look immersed in some paperwork, but his eyes stared at one spot on the page as he listened to the Governor and Daryl exchange words.

Though he had no reason to worry about the three of them telling the Governor different stories, Merle still hated the idea of Daryl facing his interrogation alone, especially because he, like Merle, was considerably shorter than the Governor, and it reminded Merle so strongly of how little Daryl was when their drunken father would come home looking for a scapegoat to take out his frustrations on.

"Merle," said the Governor in his drawled greeting as Merle approached, "glad you could join us. I've met your brother here and I gotta say: some genes definitely run in the family."

"If it's alright by you, I'd like t'get 'im settled. The trip back wasn't easy."

"Of course. Milton, show Daryl to one of our open rooms. I need to speak with Merle privately."

 _Here it comes._

Merle tried to give Daryl a reassuring nod as Milton led him out, but it wasn't an easy face to make, especially with the Governor breathing down Merle's neck. When they had gone, the genial smile slid right off the Governor's face as he rounded on Merle.

"What the hell happened out there? Where's Andrea?"

 _Careful, now_.

Merle explained how he and Andrea had been tracking a deer and how he had tried to teach her some tricks of the trade. They had almost caught up to the deer when biters stumbled into the clearing and they had had to separate. As Merle battled through the throng, he was given aid by none other than his brother who had been on his own since the farm burnt down last autumn and a few hours later, Merle and Daryl had stumbled upon a helplessly lost Milton.

"Did Andrea say anything about wanting to leave Woodbury?" asked the Governor.

"Even if she did, it don't matter." Merle revealed Andrea's decoy shirt and bag and the Governor's face fell in a wonderfully performed act of sorrow, but Merle could only imagine that the bastard was feeling lucky that he had gotten off the hook with her. "Found these when I doubled back t'follow her footsteps. They got lost in all the tracks the biters were makin', but with these, I can't say for sure what happened to her. Don't see why she emptied her pack before dumpin' it, but her shirt's been torn, so maybe it was ripped off. But that's human blood right there; it was fresh when I found it."

"So she may still be out there, wounded, or worse," the Governor mused, watching Merle carefully.

"Could be. 'F I find any sign've her, I'll letcha know."

"No, y'won't," said the Governor, fixing Merle with his penetrative stare that was the reason it had taken Merle over a year to even consider questioning his authority. The man was an experienced lie-detector and Merle knew he wouldn't be able to make up some half-assed story about seeing Andrea killed, which was why he had to merely suggest that she might have been killed.

"No, I won't," Merle agreed.

"Is this a personal favor for her, or did she offer you somethin' in return?"

"I knew she was thinkin've lookin' for her old group, but once the biters got on us, I didn't have much've a choice t'stop her. I tried t'talk her out've it the whole way. This might be her blood, it might not, but either way, she's gone an' she ain't comin' back. We ain't her people. She's got nothin' against us, but she wants t'be with the people she knows best."

"So why're you still here and not with her?"

"The assholes she's lookin' for ain't _my_ people."

"But _she_ is; I know she is. I know the two've you fucked. I know she cares about you. My question is: d'you care enough about her to eventually leave Woodbury for her?"

"I'm still here, ain't I? I was able t'forgive her for what she and them others done t'me in Atlanta, but that don't mean I forgive the rest've them pricks. Right now, all I care about is m'brother."

"Well, if he was with that other group, he seemed ready enough to leave them. Does he know where their camp is?"

"Last time he saw 'em was at the farm, same's Andrea. Ain't seen sign've 'em since. It was just lucky that he found me."

"Well, if that's where they last were, there's a good chance that Andrea will go back there to find 'em, or at least start lookin' for 'em there. Listen, I know you're tired after bein' out all night, but I need you on this one. I'll give you a few hours to rest up, and then I'm gonna take you and a small team out to that farm and wait for her. If she shows, we'll bring her back; if she doesn't, we just keep lookin'."

"Why're _you_ so invested in her? She don't wanna be here no more and she's no great loss now that she's gone."

"Oh, she _is_ a great loss, Merle. She helped lead the town while I was gone. She kept order and reassured the people that those raiders wouldn't get in. And she's a damn good shot; y'said so yourself. She's just bein' overly sentimental right now; she's confused and doesn't realize how good she has it here. This is her home and if you really care about her enough that you'd bring her to bed, you'll agree with me. Be ready at the gate by noon."

Merle stormed out of the lab, knowing that his face was a dead giveaway, but he didn't care. If the Governor intended to keep looking for Andrea, it was only a matter of time before he found the prison. This wasn't like Michonne where he hoped she had left the territory; the bastard wanted her back so he could rape her and once he located her and the others, he'd bring the full force of Woodbury against the prison by telling the citizens that Rick's group posed a legitimate threat and needed to be eliminated. And when the dust had cleared and Rick's people lay dead, the Governor would take Andrea back, forgive her in front of the town for abandoning them, and have his way with her.

Unless Merle took the Governor out of the equation before that happened, but now that the Governor had a goal, Merle had a limited amount of time to put a knife between the man's ribs if he wanted to save Andrea's dignity.

"What did you tell him?"

Milton had caught up to Merle as he headed back to his room and could not have been more obvious in his hushed tone and closed-off posture as he tried to blend in.

"Told 'im she's gone; that's all he needs t'know, now leave me alone," said Merle, quickening his pace to shake Milton off before someone saw them.

"And how did he react?"

"Ain't none've your business, man, back out while y'still got all your teeth."

"Milton!"

 _Shit, shit,_ shit!

The Governor slowed to a walk behind them, pink in the face from where he had been jogging to reach them. "Merle and I are goin' out on a run later and I'd like you to come with us."

Milton looked to Merle for help, but Merle didn't give him any. Instead, he left Milton to fend for himself as Merle went to have himself a much-sought-after nap, deciding that a talk with his brother would have to wait since the Governor would have his eyes on Merle from now until the day Merle stuck a knife in them.

/ /

Merle had circled the charred remains of what was once a barn now five times in two hours and done four rounds of the farmland and still, the Governor showed no signs of wanting to leave as he raided Hershel's house for supplies. Fletcher helped him load supplies into their pickup truck while Merle, Erica, and Milton patrolled the surrounding areas. There were bones of various animals strewn about the fields and bits of skeleton in the barn's broken rafters. Shotgun shells littered the ground and Merle could only imagine the size of the swarm that had come here the night Andrea had been separated from the rest of her group.

He was ready to call it quits, positive that Andrea would not be coming here, even to scrounge up the supplies that remained in the house that the Governor and Fletcher were currently cleaning out. If the group hadn't returned before, they certainly wouldn't be doing so now and definitely not when they saw someone else already raiding the place. But the Governor thought that Andrea was out in the woods, wounded and struggling to find a place to hole up for the night. He would be in for a major disappointment.

"This is stupid," said Erica, climbing through the blackened bits of rafter in search of anything they might be able to use. "You, Milton, and I know she's not coming, and if we told Fletcher, he wouldn't tell the Governor, so why do the four of us have to waste our day out here when we could be doing something more productive?"

"Because if we had refused, Phillip would have found that highly suspicious," said Milton as he unearthed a broken shovel from under the barn wreckage.

"'Cause he definitely ain't suspicious now," said Merle sarcastically. "I saw it in his face when I told 'im that Andrea'd gone missin' that he thinks I helped her make a run for it, but he don't know for sure 'cause he thinks I wouldda stopped her."

"Did you?" asked Milton. "Did you try to stop her?"

"If I had, she'd still be here and she'd already have had the Governor's dick up in her," said Merle shortly. "Wasn't my place t'stop her if she wanted bad enough t'leave an' I wasn't gonna say nothin' t'try'n make her stay if the alternative was a bed warmer for _that_." Merle gestured at the truck where the Governor was heaving a box of canned goods into the back.

The Governor beckoned to Merle and Milton and the two of them exchanged the briefest of glances before heading over to the truck.

"I'm thinkin' that since the house offers good enough shelter, we might wait out the night here, radio in that we're safe an' that we're bringin' back good supplies, but that we'd give it one more day in case Andrea shows up in the middle've the night."

Merle was about to protest this when a protest came in the form of a herd of biters staggering out of the woods a hundred yards out. The herd was bigger than the one that had ambushed them at the gas station, but about the size of the one that had tried to break in through Woodbury's gates and, with a sudden thought, Merle wondered if this was actually the same herd.

"Don't look like that's happenin' tonight. If Andrea's close, she ain't gonna come this way 'til them biters clear off, so we'd best git goin'," said Merle.

At that moment, they heard a scream as the exo-skeleton of the barn caved in, trapping Erica underneath it. Simultaneously, more biters appeared around the side of the house and Merle dashed in, swiping his blade attachment left and right until he had to fall back as the numbers grew.

"Erica, stay calm, I'm coming!" shouted Fletcher as he turned toward the barn to go to her aid, but the Governor grabbed his arm.

"Y'won't get her out in time. She's lost, now let's go."

Fletcher looked abhorred at the very idea of leaving one of their own behind, especially one who happened to be one of his close friends. "She's still alive. I'm going back for her."

"We're not gonna make it if we wait for her. I said leave her." The Governor pointed to the pickup.

"Fuck you," said Fletcher, turning back for Erica.

The Governor pulled out his revolver and shot Fletcher in the spine and as the signal from his body to his brain was shut off in paralysis, Fletcher crumpled into the dirt, unable to move.

"Now look what y'made me do," said the Governor irritably as he went to Fletcher's body, rummaged in his jeans pocket and pulled out the car keys, twirling the key ring around his fingers. He looked around and saw that biters were beginning to swarm them. "C'mon, let's get movin'."

Milton looked from the Governor to Fletcher to Merle in desperation, asking with his eyes what Merle wanted him to do, but Merle shooed him off. _I got this, go_ , he mouthed, and Milton ran to the passenger side of the truck as Merle knelt beside Fletcher and turned him over. Blood was spilling over Fletcher's lips as he garbled at Merle, "Go back for her."

Merle took Fletcher's shotgun and sidearm. He prepared to shoot Fletcher in the head, but Fletcher called him off. "No, you'll need something to distract the biters while you get her."

"Awe, c'mon, man, that ain't right. Y'can't even shoot y'self—"

"Go!"

The pickup took off, churning up dust in its wake as it sped away up the dirt road, but Merle ran to the barn. He saw Erica pinned beneath one of the broken timbers by the leg and no matter how she twisted herself, she couldn't wriggle free. When she saw that Merle had come back for her, she nearly cried tears of relief. Merle handed her Fletcher's shotgun and told her to fire if she saw any biter and not wait for it to get closer. He threw his weight against the timbers, shoving with his shoulder and repeatedly backing up to take a running start and ram into the damn things until he went right through them and caused the rest of the barn to rain down on him and Erica. Coughing up ash and dust, Merle pushed the rafters off of him and went to where Erica was cocking the shotgun to annihilate the head of a biter that had gotten too close for comfort. No sooner had the body toppled that Merle heard Fletcher start to shout.

"Over here, motherfuckers! I'm here, you bastards, come and get me!"

"Where is he?" asked Erica, who hadn't seen the Governor shoot her friend down in cold blood.

"C'mon," said Merle in resignation, draping her arm around his shoulders as he pulled her into a standing position. She cried out as she put weight on her ankle and Merle prayed it wasn't broken as he escorted her out of the rubble. When they had cleared the barn's carcass, Erica saw the biters converging on the spot in front of the house where Fletcher lay, motionless, but as loud as ever.

"Merle, if you have her, go already!" Fletcher hollered and then the first biter fell upon him, feasting on the muscle in his outstretched arm.

Erica opened her mouth to scream and Merle had to slap his hand over it. "He's doin' this for you, so you'd best keep quiet an' walk for all you're worth, woman."

"We can't leave him like that," said Erica, now sobbing freely. "Merle, you have to put him down."

"Can't. Need the distraction," said Merle, and he started to cart her off toward the trees with Fletcher's cries of agony following them. Any biters pursuing them couldn't catch up because they all had been coaxed in by Fletcher as Merle half-carried Erica away in complete silence. Even when they had put at least a half mile between themselves and the spot of carnage, Merle could still hear Fletcher screaming.


	26. Chapter 26: Due Changes

**MILTON**

"You're hyperventilating, calm down," said Phillip as they turned onto the highway.

"You—shot—him," said Milton, seeing the bullet hit Fletcher's spinal cord over and over in his head. "And then you took off without Merle—"

"Merle'll be fine. He'll make it, trust me. I could've made it too, but you couldn't have. Fletcher wasn't gonna let anyone leave without rescuing Erica, which would've gotten you killed."

"You killed Fletcher to protect me? Phillip, do not use me as your scapegoat. Don't expect me to believe that steaming pile of bullshit either. You shot a man down in front of me for no good reason and that's not something I can overlook."

"I'm not askin' you to," said Phillip. "But Fletcher was endangerin' us all and you already know how rebellious he was, how insubordinate he could be. That kind've person is dangerous to have around, no matter the circumstances. Crowley and Wade were like that, and look where they ended up. No regard for other people's safety—"

"Fletcher was nothing like Crowley and Wade. He was going back for Erica and you had no right to—"

"Right?" Phillip thundered, slamming on the brakes so that Milton nearly went flying into the windshield. " _I_ don't have the right to eliminate a man who stands in the way've my life? _I_ don't have the right to take whatever measures I deem necessary to ensure that I survive?

Milton had seen Phillip boil over in anger a few times, but never in a way when the anger was directed at _him_. He never had reason before to fear that Phillip would harm him, but the way Phillip was looking at him now made Milton very much aware of the gun pressed against Milton's thigh as Milton calculated how long it would take to draw it and shoot it if Phillip tried to hurt him now. He chose his words carefully, letting his hand drop casually into his lap to give himself better access to his sidearm if he needed it.

"Phillip, you know that I've been on your side from the beginning as your advisor and your friend, but I've noticed a change in you since we let Andrea and Michonne into Woodbury and it hasn't been for the greater good. I don't know what stress you're under or what's happened that you don't feel comfortable telling me, but you're acting reckless and that's an attribute that Woodbury can't afford to have in its leader. I'm here for you, you know that, but I can't help you or support you if you continue to act so brashly when dealing with things that deserve time and consideration to handle. Crowley's delayed imprisonment, the decision to leave Woodbury _hoping_ that the person who let the biters in would come forward, shooting Fletcher, it's not _you_."

"Yes, it is, and I'm not proud've it, but it's who I am now. Y'don't get to be the same person y'were before this all started, otherwise you'll die. I can't be the same man I was and neither can you, so you'd best start makin' changes to yourself before it's too late, Milton."

Phillip turned his attention back to the road and continued to drive. Drowned out by the noise of the tires on the road, Milton felt safe enough to let out the breath he had been holding in anticipation, but he never moved his hand any further from his pistol the whole way back to Woodbury.

/ /

Milton had his first true nightmare that night. He felt a piece of burning-hot lead in his back and tried to remove it, but couldn't even feel any sensation below his neck. As he lay face-down in the dirt, he could hear the dead coming closer and just when he thought no help was coming, someone turned him over. It was Merle…except, it couldn't be because Merle's eyes were no longer his, but blood-filled replicas that had grown infected with yellow and green until they swelled over, spilling out pus-and-blood-filled waterfalls from the tear ducts. And there was a giant hole in Merle's chest, the results of something the size of a baseball cutting through him and taking out the section where his heart should be.

The image was absolutely terrifying and Milton opened his mouth to scream as Merle's teeth descend on him to rip out his throat.

That had been quite enough of _that_ , and after composing himself, Milton dressed before dawn, throwing lukewarm water into his face to wake himself up and shake the nightmare out of his thoughts. He needed to be absolutely focused in the days to come and couldn't let some dream gone wrong mess with his head if he wanted to ensure the safety of the people at the prison and the innocent Woodbury citizens. In the lab, he drew up elaborate sketches of battlefield tactics, taking what he had learned from Merle and Guerrero to list all possible outcomes of an ultimate and unavoidable meeting between Phillip and Rick. He listed the people in Woodbury he knew he could trust to side with him and Merle if it came down to it and then made a separate list of soldiers he knew where absolutely loyal to Phillip. He read through the lists of various supplies in the forms of winter stock, medical items, food, weapons, ammunition, vehicles, and all other resources, making several notes in his personal notebook of how much was consumed each day and by whom. Only when his stomach gave a low grumble did he realize that he had been working well into the early afternoon, though he was surprised that Phillip hadn't come in to check on him since that was a habit of Phillip to stick his nose into Milton's work.

Stretching out, Milton took the side exit that would lead him to the ivy-grown alley and as he opened the door, he had to refrain from hissing at the sunlight as it beamed him in the face with its full power. Blinded, he felt his way along the brick wall until his sight returned, and at the same moment, he bumped headlong into Becky.

Tousle-haired and watching Milton with what Merle would have called "resting bitch face", Becky blocked Milton off from going further and Milton was horrified to see that she had hold of a weapon again, though this was tucked into the front of her pants and not sitting in a holster, which told him that she had stolen it just like the last one Milton had confiscated from her.

"Off to see Merle?" she asked, glaring at him as if he had done her a personal wrong.

"Merle's not back from the run yet," said Milton automatically, defaulting to the fib that Phillip had ordered him to tell anyone who asked about Merle, Erica, and Fletcher.

"Yes, he is. Just pulled up in a car like he did yesterday. Damn, that man is super fine when he comes back from runs." Becky bit wistfully at her lip as she glanced over her shoulder. "He said Erica and Fletcher didn't make it, though, which makes three people who've gone missing or died in two days while out on a run with Merle, so remind me never to go anywhere with him."

"You won't listen to that advice even though it's your own because you still fancy him," said Milton, trying to move around her.

"Knowing him, he probably launched himself on Andrea and then killed her. Did the same to Erica, and Fletcher saw, so Merle had to kill him."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" asked Milton, disgusted. "Seriously, Becky, I believe that you have some sort of mental illness, and I strongly suggest going to see Doctor Stephens to get some medical help because you're a danger to yourself and everyone around you."

Becky dropped all pretenses and launched into what she had obviously come to say to Milton as she took a step toward him and he mirrored her, except in the opposite direction. "Look, I know you wanted to fuck Andrea and you're mad as hell that Merle got to her first, just like I'm pissed that she got Merle before I got the chance to have him, so since we're both panning for people we can't have, why don't we compensate? I know you want to do it at least once before you die, but Andrea's not here anymore, so you'll just have to settle for me."

"I already told you once to leave me alone, and I'd rather not have to tell you again."

Becky had backed him into the wall so that Milton could smell the cheap fragrance on her that she used to waft in the other soldier's faces as she flaunted by. The smell gagged him as Becky put her hands on his chest and grinned menacingly.

"I can roleplay as Andrea if it'll get you in the mood and I'm already sensing a little bit of Merle's attitude in you, so this can work out for both of us."

Her hand found Milton's crotch, but before she could squeeze, he had grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her away, shaking in fury. How dare she comment so nonchalantly about Merle and rape and then proceed to force herself on him like that? He had half a mind to do something more drastic, but that sort of action wasn't in his character and he could never forgive himself if he did anything to physically hurt her, no matter how despicable of a woman she was. All he had to use against her were words, and those he was well-versed in the usage of.

"Dammit, keep your fucking hands off of me, do you understand? If you ever touch me like that again, I'll build you a cell myself right next to Crowley who's doing time for sexual assault. I'm not your rebound plaything as you mope about not finding another victim and if I find a shred of proof that you've done this to anyone else in this town, you'll never come out of that cell. The world doesn't have room for sexual predators like you, so stay the hell away from me."

Milton began to walk away, but then reached back and swiped the pistol out of Becky's belt. "And another thing; one more instance of you stealing from the armory and I'll have your rations cut for a month. You haven't earned this and you don't deserve it."

He brushed past her, knowing full well that she could cry wolf and say that Milton had hit her, but it was his word against hers and she not only had no marks on her, but Milton had a reputation as the most timid, reserved man in town and that would actually work in his favor if Becky chose to make a big thing out of this for the attention or to make Milton be the one placed behind bars so that she could visit him in the lonely hours of the night.

Once out on the main street, Milton saw a car parked in front of the infirmary, though he didn't see Merle. He did, however, see Daryl being lectured by Phillip down by the lounge and after Phillip had said his piece, he turned away so that he didn't see the middle finger Daryl threw at him. Hastening to Daryl's side, Milton dragged his arm down, causing Daryl to react like he had been electrocuted.

"Hey, paws off—"

"You can't just flip someone the bird if you don't agree with them, especially not the Governor," said Milton anxiously. "If someone were to see you—"

"Let 'em see. I don't take no shit from no Governor. I ain't gonna play loyal pooch neither. If he says somethin' t'me that I don't like, I ain't gonna sit here an' take it like the rest've these dumbasses."

"Daryl," said Milton slowly as he prayed for patience with this younger, less-broken-in version of Merle, "you agreed to come back here to _help_ us, not start a personal vendetta against the Governor. You need to follow your brother's lead and mine, and that doesn't involve making faces and adolescent gestures behind people's backs like a six year old."

"Watch it, Sunshine, or my knife'll rip you a new one," said Daryl, fingering the knife at his belt.

"Hey," said Merle, striding up to them in a confrontational manner that told Milton immediately that he was in serious trouble. "The hell'd you say t'my brother, Miltie?"

Milton couldn't say he was surprised to see Merle since Phillip had assured him that Merle survived the attack on the barn, but Merle looked like he hadn't slept for days as untidy stubble grew out all over his face and dark bags under his eyes puffed out, giving him the unhealthy look of someone who needed sunlight, but couldn't absorb any. He had no blood on him, which was a first for Merle, so that Milton had to wonder if he had managed to save Erica, regardless of what Becky said, but if he had, where was she now? Was it possible that he had taken her to the prison? With Merle, it was highly plausible, especially since he would have wanted to see Andrea again, but even if he had gone there, he hadn't stayed. He chose to come and face Phillip again to tell him that he had tried to save Erica but couldn't and see if Phillip believed yet another bucket of blatant lies. How long could Merle keep this façade up before Phillip put him down like an unfaithful, rabid dog just like he'd done to Fletcher when Fletcher had chosen his friends over Phillip?

"This little shit thinks he's the only one in the whole town who don't got his head up his ass. Don'tchoo tell me my business," said Daryl, heartened by his brother's presence.

"It's nothing you need to be concerned about," said Milton to Merle in an effort to diffuse the tension. "I was merely reminding your brother that this isn't his old camp and he can't walk around with disgust for Phillip written all over his face and not expect repercussions. If we want to do what we came back to do, having Captain Obvious here strut the streets looking like he wants to put an arrow in Phillip's head isn't going to help."

"Y'keep your damn mouth shut, y'hear me?" said Merle, crossing that invisible barrier that he loved to breach so often to get up in people's faces and make them cower under his murderous glare. "Y'don't get t'say nothin' t'Daryl."

"C'mon, Merle, leave 'im t'kiss that bastard's ass," said Daryl, but Merle gave Daryl a shove in the shoulder.

"This goes beyond anythin' he said t'you, man, this's personal. You look here, Miltie, I don't wantchoo talkin' t'my brother, unnerstand? Y'don't give 'im no orders, y'don't tell 'im nothing'. Stay the hell away from 'im an' keep the fuck outta my way or I'll beat your ass into the ground."

Milton only felt rage as he stood there and took the verbal abuse. He was already fueled by his confrontation with Becky and the satisfaction of seeing her cocky persona crumble. Standing up to Merle was just another altercation that was a long time in the making. Long gone were the days where Merle could force him to avert his gaze and mutter an apology. He was so sick of being the victim, being belittled because he didn't have the physical figure to make Merle see him as a threat and if they wanted to remove Phillip from power, they needed to consider one another as equals, not whatever the hell system they had going on right now.

"Okay, Merle, you want to make this personal? I think you've been screwed up ever since Andrea came to Woodbury and I think that you're sexually frustrated because you finally said or did something that got her into bed with you and a few days later, she takes off to be with her own people and it pisses you off because you couldn't control her like she was some floozy you picked up on a street corner. I think your masculinity is threatened because your charm wasn't enough to keep her here, so you feel the need to remind everyone in town that you're not to be fucked with when in reality it comes across as a desperate attempt to keep your status as the hard-assed, dumb-as-shit, inbred piece of trash that you are on top of being an emotionless lapdog to Phillip that throws a tantrum whenever he doesn't get his way."

Milton didn't know why Merle let him spew the whole thing out when he half-expected Merle to punch him after the first sentence, but Merle waited, and when Milton had said his piece, _then_ Merle hit him. His hand came in from the left and made contact with Milton's eye, knocking off his glasses. The second blow was delivered from Merle's elbow as it flew up from below in a surprise uppercut. Blindsided, Milton stumbled, seeing the metal rims on his glasses reflect the sunlight as they fell on the cobblestone sidewalk, but instead of picking them up, Milton threw his arms out and grabbed Merle around the waist so that they both toppled off the sidewalk and went down on the asphalt street.

Merle's hand found Milton's gut and pummeled it twice before Milton managed to throw him off and elbow Merle hard in the chest. He felt someone grab his shoulder, but Merle shouted at the culprit to back away and then seized his hair, yanking hard until Milton felt at least five hairs part company with his scalp. Milton yelped like a beaten animal, swiping blindly at Merle with his fists, but to no avail as Merle's hold on him tightened. Despite the strain on his head, Milton forced himself to focus and think of the most vulnerable parts of the body that he could reach as Merle tried to yank all of the hair out from the top of his skull. Flattening out his hand perpendicular to the ground as if he was going to high-five Merle in the face, Milton pressed the flat of his palm to Merle's nose and pressed in and upward against the bone and sensitive muscle. Instant tears of pain appeared in Merle's eyes, but to his credit, he tried to hold off as long as he could so that Milton could actually see him deliberating whether or not a broken nose was a reasonable price to pay for keeping hold of Milton's hair.

He let go and Milton fell back, nursing his aching head as Merle turned onto his stomach and felt for blood under his nose. Milton felt someone step on his fingers as they walked past him to see if Merle was alright and as Milton went to sit up, a shadow blotted out the sun. He blinked up, spreading out his hand to search for his glasses the better to look up with.

Someone's hand offered them out to him and he muttered a thank you, carefully replacing the glasses on his face in time to see Tate give him a frightened glance before hurrying off and as Milton saw the shadow over him, he could see why. Phillip had his arms folded, glaring down at Milton like a father severely disappointed in a son who didn't make the football team, except Phillip's rage was simmering just below the surface at the sight of Milton and Merle's squabbling less than a day after he had warned Milton to stay in line or else risk consequences.

 _Oh, fuck it_ , though Milton, throwing caution to the winds.

"Alright, alright, I started it, is that what you want to hear? I threw a punch and I had no good reason to other than to earn myself some much-needed and long-awaited satisfaction, but you can't tell me that he didn't have it coming and I'm not going to apologize."

"Shove it up your ass," called Merle, flipping back over so that Milton could see two bright red trails running out of his nostrils.

"This is the town street, Milton, not the pit fights. If y'wanna fight Merle, sign up, but otherwise, keep your hands off've him and I'll make sure he does the same. I'm lettin' you off with a warnin' because in any civilized society equipped to deal with a brawl like that, one or both've you could face jail time. Now, get up, and walk away. I don't want you two anywhere near each other 'til you can learn to respect each other and not hurtle insults at each other among other things. If you're gonna act like children, that's how you're gonna be treated."

Milton got to his feet, massaging the two rapidly swelling bumps over his eye from where Merle had hit him. He waited until Phillip had moved on and Daryl had taken Merle off the street before he moved off toward the infirmary with a goal in mind. If Phillip was going to accuse Milton of acting below the law when Phillip had been the one to shoot a man in the back after a failed attempt to find Andrea and bring her back so that Phillip could rape her, Milton was going to do something to actually earn his accusation.


	27. Chapter 27: From the Outside Looking In

**ANDREA**

When Andrea first saw the car waiting at the gates, a jolt of fear struck her as she anticipated the worst possible outcome of having a car sitting outside their boundaries. Then, when the headlights flashed in the near-darkness and she heard the horn and saw a woman fleetingly lean out of the driver's side before sucking herself back in and rolling up the window to avoid the walkers, Andrea grabbed the binoculars from Carol who was also on courtyard watch with her and saw that it was Erica. And after Andrea had assured everyone that Erica was trustworthy (and had a surprising amount of help convincing them thanks to Rick who had already met Erica), she listened to Erica recount the story of how the Governor had left her to die at Hershel's farm and how Fletcher had been killed trying to buy her and Merle some time. At the mention of Merle, Andrea immediately asked where he was, only to find out that Merle had put Erica in the first working car in drivable condition that he could hotwire and gave her directions to the prison.

If Andrea was being honest with herself, she felt more than slightly hurt that Merle hadn't come with Erica. She should have been proud of him for doing something as selfless as staying behind to rescue Erica when he had every right to save himself, but instead Andrea had to wonder why Merle didn't at least come by to check on the group. But then she had to chide herself because this wasn't a situation where the prison was Woodbury's neighbor and Merle could swing by any time he wanted; he had just been at the prison the day before and had no reason yet to come here, otherwise he would have driven up with Erica. As Erica told it, Merle insisted that he had to finish up what he'd started—whatever that meant—before sending her on her way.

So while Hershel set Erica's fractured ankle and put her up in a room on the second floor of the cell block since all the ones on the main floor were taken, Andrea had given Elliot another transfusion as she mulled over Merle's absence, thinking of what she might have done or said that made him want to stay away because he knew her well enough to know what she meant for him to take seriously and what she intended for him to take as a throwaway comment. It could have been any number of things, but she had a sneaking suspicion that he had been taken aback by the kiss she'd given him. Despite having an extremely physical night with him because he was as animalistic in bed as he was on the battlefield, he was still reluctant to let people touch him intimately and a mouth-to-mouth kiss was as publically intimate as Andrea could be with him.

He could not have expected that from her because of the policy he was used to, "one and done", only she knew he had wanted it to be "several times with no emotional attachment and done". And she was prepared for that, for the experience to be a simple matter of satisfying her sexual desires and then pretending like it never happened, but between that night with Merle and yesterday when she had bade him goodbye for what she hoped wasn't the last time, she realized that she was in far too deep and had been emotionally compromised by Merle Dixon. He was an asshole, still largely sexist and racist, and a handful of other bad qualities, but her desire for him had left the safety net of lust and developed into a dull heartache. She was so used to his colorful and commanding presence these past weeks that to be here now without him, the prison seemed like a graveyard in its stony silence.

And like a schoolgirl fantasizing about her crush, Andrea had a small hope that the feeling was mutual because hadn't Merle gone to extreme lengths to stick his neck out for her, help her, and make her happy? He'd stood up for her against her would-be-rapist and introduced her to the proper techniques for firing rifles and shotguns. He'd appointed himself as her personal body guard and that wasn't just because he wanted to get her in bed because the protective behavior had extended beyond that night. As focused as he had been on finding Daryl, he was still visibly concerned about her when she'd come back to her room after being given her ultimatum from Phillip. He didn't press her for sex that night even though he knew he was giving up his last chance to have another round with her because he saw that she was upset—and when she'd finally told him yesterday that Phillip wanted her in the worst way, Merle had completely lost his shit.

Now, if Merle was a possessive, controlling type of man, that sort of behavior would be expected and he would have confronted Phillip for trying to steal Andrea as if she was Merle's property, but Merle had come to treat Andrea as an equal and not "a woman", supporting her decisions to be his female equivalent, and he clearly didn't see Andrea as _his_. That left one option; he considered himself to belong to Andrea on some level, and somehow in his hopelessly battered mind, he thought that it was his duty to protect her from anything that he might have brought upon her.

So when she'd kissed him, she'd confirmed that she wanted more from him than just his company in bed, and maybe he was too shocked to tell her that that was what he had wanted from her as well.

These thoughts gave Andrea something to smile about, even if it was a weary smile since she had been up half the night helping Hershel check on Elliot and Erica and was to be found the next late morning hunched over in a folding chair beside Elliot's bed. Her chin slipped off of her hand where she'd been trying to prop it up to stay awake and she gave a semi-startled jerk.

"If Hershel asks to take more blood from you, tell him no," said Elliot as his voice came out in a gargled mess when he noticed that Andrea was sitting beside him.

"If he asks for more, it's because you need it," said Andrea, sipping at the bottom of the cup Hershel had left her to get the last dregs of juice.

"If the Governor shows up, your people will need all the help they can get, which includes you, so you shouldn't be wasting your energy on me."

"I don't know what it is with men and staking claims to whose people are whose, but you're here with me now, aren't you? That makes you one of us. I'd claim you if Phillip appeared at those gates and told us to hand you over if we wanted to live. You've earned the right to still be here."

"Tell that to my sister and her family," said Elliot, turning his face away to the wall so Andrea couldn't see him cry even though she could hear it in his throat. Andrea understood how difficult it was to talk about lost loved ones who had died in what seemed like needless ways while those living with survivor's guilt had to try and exist from day to day. She didn't know Elliot's story: if he had seen his family eaten in front of him or watched them succumb to a bite or how far he'd gotten before he lost them. But there was something to be treasured in sharing stories of survival, so she told him of how she had lost Amy and given up on life until Dale risked his own to save her and how she then had to watch him die. When she finished, she started to stand to leave Elliot alone with his thoughts, but he held up his hand as if to say _stop_ while still facing the wall.

"What? What do you need?"

"Please, don't leave," said Elliot. "I don't want to be alone."

"I can go get Erica if you want—"

"No, she's with Guerrero. Even though she's here, she's still with him, and it's not fair to either of them for me to get too close to her because Guerrero could be the next one to show up at the gate. In fact, if Merle tells him what's going on, I can guarantee you that he'll pack up and come here and not think twice about it. That man doesn't care about much, but Erica's all he has."

"It's not a crime to be her friend, Elliot, and even if it was, you're already in prison," said Andrea in a light-hearted attempt at a joke, but when Elliot continued to frown at the wall, she gave up any attempts to cheer him up. "If you don't want her here, though, I can get one of the others. I noticed that Axel and T-Dog like you well enough."

"They haven't seen me at my weakest," said Elliot, finally turning his head back so that Andrea could see his sunken eyes and waxen face. "You and Erica saw me when I came out of the woods and got bitten. You held me down while Merle went axe-happy on my arm and once someone has seen you in that state, you share a bond with them whether you like it or not. I need someone who understands that to sit here with me because I have to tell someone my story. I need someone to judge me for my actions."

"I'm not a priest. I can't absolve you of your sins—"

"I'm not looking for absolution; I just need you to hear me," Elliot begged, and he looked so utterly defeated that Andrea sat back down and pulled her chair up closer to him. He tried several times to start his story, but only managed to gulp loudly. Andrea set her hand over his brow and combed through his hair. It wasn't a gesture that was used among mere acquaintances, which technically, she and Elliot were since she knew close to nothing about him, but she hadn't been lying when she said that she considered him to be part of the group now. And this gesture was one that both she and Amy had found comforting in times of stress, so she figured that if it worked for them, it could do something for Elliot as well. Surprisingly, it did, for his tortured face relaxed and looked, if anything, starved for affection of that sort. He drew in a deep breath and launched into his story, speaking to the bunk above him.

"We were heading for our cabin after finally getting out of the city. We'd been holed up there for almost two weeks in a group of eleven, but when we made a run for it, we had six people left: my sister Grace, her husband Tom, and their three kids. Our car burnt out five miles from the cabin so we got out to finish the journey on foot. We'd only made it about fifteen yards when the biters swarmed in out of nowhere. We didn't even have warning: no sight or sound of anything that would have revealed that they were there; one moment the road was clear and the next it was clogged with biters. They grabbed Tom before any of us could do anything and Tom had the youngest child Harry with him. They dragged both of them down and were already ripping into Tom when I panicked and shot my nephew in the head before the biters could start on him too."

Elliot's waterworks turned on again, but he made no effort to try and wipe his tears away as he continued.

"Grace turned on me and I saw it in my sister's face that she hated me for doing that one thing. Her four year old son had been about to have his face chewed off and I ended it before he could experience that pain, but she still hated me because to her, it looked like I'd just shot a child for no good reason. She turned her gun on me and I put a bullet in her arm so that she was forced to drop it, but that was all the time it took for the biters to take her down. The eldest child, my niece Jasmine, took off running up the road, but I couldn't get to her, so with Grace screaming as she was eaten alive at my feet, I grabbed my other niece Kiley and went back to the car, locking both of us in as we crouched down so that the biters would pass us by. It took hours, but when they were finally gone, Kiley opened her door and took off. I ran after her, but I lost her in the woods. I called out to her for the rest of the day and climbed up into a tree for the night, but when morning came, I knew she was dead because I found her bloody sneakers half a mile from my tree. She'd never even screamed. And on that same morning, I came across Woodbury."

Andrea said nothing. She didn't know how she was supposed to feel or if she could justify Elliot's actions. Had his shooting of his nephew Harry been a mercy killing, or might the boy have been saved at the last minute? Should he have put in more effort, perhaps kept a closer eye on Kiley? And was he in the right for disarming his sister to save his own life but unintentionally causing her death in the process? Could Elliot be forgiven for what he had done, or did he even need forgiveness? Was he even in the wrong? If survival was the ultimate goal, then he had only proved that he was the one who had earned the right to live. But at what cost?

"What do you want me to say?" asked Andrea a few moments later.

"Anything, just don't sit there in silence," said Elliot nervously.

"I don't know what I would have done in your situation. I can't tell you that you were justified in doing what you did, but I won't say that you were wrong. I think that the important thing is the guilt that you feel. You can either deal with it and accept it or let it weigh you down until you think the only way to cope is to kill yourself. The guilt is what keeps you sane or drives you crazy, and I think that as long as you feel shame, you're not entirely at fault. It's when you stop feeling anything that you've crossed the line."

Elliot didn't look reassured by Andrea's statement, but he had stopped crying, which Andrea took as a good sign.

"I think I'm paying the price bit by bit—literally," said Elliot, showing Andrea the stump of his arm. "It's the same arm I shot Grace in."

"Andrea, Rick wants you out in the courtyard," said Glenn, appearing in Elliot's cell doorway. "I'll sit with him, go on."

Andrea was dizzy upon standing, but she managed to hide it as she made her way outside to where Rick was pressed up against the inner fence, digging the binoculars into his eyes to watch the road. He heard Andrea's approach and pointed without looking at her. Andrea cupped her hands around her eyes and saw a jeep waiting to be let in at the gate. A closer look told her that the driver was—

"Milton!"

Oscar was at the outer gate and after Rick sent him the signal, opened the gate to allow Milton in. Milton drove the jeep right up the path to the courtyard and as he climbed out, dragged a humungous black trash bag with him.

Andrea ran to him and threw her arms around him in relief before he even had a chance to set his bag down. She stepped back and examined him, checking for injuries or bites, but when she found him unscathed, she got a good look at his face and gasped at the purplish-black swelling around his left eye, which he had kept hidden from her view until now. By the way he was walking, Andrea suspected that he had bruised and possibly fractured his ribs or something else vital on the inside, so it was no small wonder how he had gotten here on his own.

"Who did that to you?" Andrea demanded, gesturing at Milton's face.

"Benson," said Milton, not meeting her eye as he held out the black trash bag, which was actually four trash bags stuffed together to provide extra security from ripping. Inside were blankets, bottles, some old (and by old, they had probably been played with once) toys, formula, medical supplies, diapers, and canned food. "I wanted to bring weapons, but of everything I could have borrowed, those would have been noted if they'd gone missing. I'm already taking a risk in bringing you all food."

After searching inside the bag, Rick's brow wrinkled as he considered Milton. "Y-you brought all've this—for my daughter?"

"Like I said, this prison is no place for a baby, and since it's too dangerous for you to come to Woodbury, I wanted to give her the best chance at survival that I could possibly give. The other babies in Woodbury are well on six months now, so some of these things they don't need."

Rick was at a loss for words, but he held out his hand to Milton and Milton shook it with a hopeful half-smile, watching Rick take the treasure trove of baby supplies inside as Andrea posed her question again.

"Milton, who hit you, and don't you dare say Benson. You're not stupid enough to get into a heated argument with him because that's beneath you. But you do have a knack for going head-on against Merle."

"Merle may or may not have delivered a rather wicked hook and uppercut," Milton admitted.

"That son of a bitch—"

"It was him letting off steam because I had to have words with Daryl about keeping a low profile around Phillip and Merle, acting as the ever-protective older brother, thought I was threatening Daryl. Things turned a little—heated, but both of us were able to get up and walk away, so it could have been much worse," said Milton with a half-hearted shrug.

"You mean you hit him back?" asked Andrea, impressed against her will. She'd secretly wanted Milton to give Merle a taste of his own medicine to help boost his confidence, but she never thought Milton would go through with it.

"I might have," said Milton evasively as he cleared his throat, though he looked rather pleased with himself, which Andrea thought was good for him to have enough confidence to feel boastful. "Is Erica here?"

"Yes, why, Merle didn't tell you?"

"No, he got back this morning and didn't say a word to me about either of them. But what did Erica tell you?"

"That Merle let her keep the car so she could drive up to the gate and that she'd been left for dead by Phillip."

"Did she also tell you that Phillip pulled a gun on Fletcher and paralyzed him so that he and I could get away when biters swarmed the farm? Everyone in town except Phillip thinks Merle got you killed and now they think that he was the cause of Erica and Fletcher's deaths and I think Merle is close to cracking under the strain because he can't tell anyone the truth until he has hard evidence that Phillip has done something that might make us consider removing him from his position. Phillip doesn't trust me and neither does Merle and I can't do this on my own, Andrea. I know I have to go back because people are relying on me, but I don't want to. I came here because I need your help to get things moving."

Milton proved that he was capable of being a leader of sorts with the instance concerning Hobbs, but he also made it quite clear that he preferred to take the back seat and leave the leadership position open to someone else. He must have truly been desperate to come to Andrea and risk Phillip finding out.

"What do you want _me_ to do? I can't go back with you."

"Give me a note in your handwriting where you tell Merle that he needs to support me right now. Tell him whatever you need to if it would only move him to action because frankly, I don't think Phillip is going to tolerate much more from either of us. I need Merle, but Daryl is a complication thrown into the equation and I don't think it was the best decision letting him come back to Woodbury. Merle's more concerned with shielding him than dealing with Phillip and we can't have that sort of distraction. If Merle tries to overthrown Phillip now, Daryl will back him up and the town will see it as an outsider swindling his brother into taking leadership. We need the town to support us when we expose Phillip and I don't think they will if Daryl's around. Plus, he's already at odds with Phillip and I foresee that the two of them will be the next ones throwing punches if Daryl doesn't come back here."

"So you need Daryl gone to get Merle's cooperation," Andrea concluded. "Don't you think that'll send up a red flag to Phillip that he lost me and Merle found Daryl and then Daryl left just a few days later? Phillip will know that the group is close by and start thinking of any stronghold where we might be hiding."

"But Phillip still thinks the prison is overrun," Milton pointed out. "That buys us time. I know that the citizens already trust Merle and me; it's the soldiers I'm worried about."

"You'll have a fight on your hands either way. Everyone's under the delusion that they're safe with Phillip in charge."

"Are they? Phillip left the town at a critical time and wasn't there to fend for us when Hobbs came. His reasons for leaving were rubbish and he's been in a state of boiling temper ever since. Merle and I have been the ones managing the town and when we aren't there, Guerrero does and everyone can see it. We have to take that chance now while we're still in good standing, but for that to happen, I need you to lay it out on the table for Merle and I need Daryl gone. Can you do that?"

Andrea sensed something amiss with this plan, a foreboding piece that set off alarms in her head as if it was destined to fail or otherwise go awry, but she'd given up her claim to any sort of leadership over Woodbury when she left, so Milton was the best chance the town had.


	28. Chapter 28: The Dixon Code

**MERLE**

Guerrero had locked himself on the roof of the northernmost building, sniping at any biter that got within a hundred meters of the town as a way to cope with the loss of his girlfriend because Merle hadn't yet told him the truth on account of not fully trusting the man. Merle couldn't put his finger on why he was reluctant to tell Guerrero about the prison and Erica, but something held him back. Maybe it was Guerrero's willingness and experience in injecting Wade in his sleep and having no second thoughts about it. Or maybe it was Guerrero's known history as a hitman that made him a questionable candidate for Merle's coup d'état.

 _Nah._

Merle just had no way of knowing for sure which side Guerrero was on. And even then, not necessarily which side he was on, but which side he felt most comfortable supporting at that moment. Guerrero went with the highest bidder; his loyalty didn't fall under any one man. It was whoever had the best to offer Guerrero in return that he pledged a temporary allegiance to, who he would support for the time being. Merle just needed to make sure that the Governor wasn't the highest bidder.

He made sure to make his approach noisy so that Guerrero wouldn't be spooked as Merle climbed the stairs to the roof and threw open the door, but Guerrero didn't even look his way as he knelt at the ridge, shooting off four shots in succession to put down the biters that he must have seen far down the road.

"Got a second?" asked Merle.

"No offense, dude, but fuck off or I'll shoot you in your motherfucking eye," said Guerrero without turning away from his target.

"Excuse me?"

Guerrero put the biter down, cocked another bullet into the chamber, and then turned the rifle on Merle. "Get the fuck away from me."

"And just what the hell is your problem?"

"You stand there as a survivor of two scouting missions gone wrong and you're asking me what my problem is? Unless I'm wrong in assuming that one of my only friends and my girlfriend both died while you made it back, then I think you have your answer, you goddamn coward. We've lost a lotta good people in the past few weeks, but losing Elliot, Andrea, Fletcher, and Erica all in one week—that's not something I've got a grasp on. So I'm telling you now that you'd better not take Wes or Tate anywhere or—"

"Or what? Y'ain't got no right threatenin' me, y'little punk. I done what I could for 'em, but I can't control when the biters move in—"

"Spare me the bullshit. I had to admit that I was surprised when you lost Andrea out there because I know you've had your eyes on her since she came here, but when your reckless behavior gets people I care about killed—"

Disregarding the fact that Guerrero was one of many people who had noticed Merle's deep attraction toward Andrea when Merle had hoped it had come across as more of a flirtatious gesture, Merle took a few tentative steps forward.

"Alright, listen here, asswipe, the Governor shot Fletcher down while Fletcher was runnin' t'save Erica after a pile've beams fell on her. Governor didn't wanna stay t'dig her out 'cause biters were on us, but Fletcher tried t'help her and he got shot in the spine for it. Governor took the keys an' Milton an' drove off. I dug Erica out while Fletcher distracted the biters."

He paused. Dare he tell Guerrero where Erica was now?

"And?" Guerrero prompted, hanging onto Merle's every word.

"And she had a busted ankle, so she couldn't walk. She held a gun on me and made me run for it, so I did."

The inkling of hope Guerrero had been harvesting faded from his eyes and his shoulders drooped in defeat. His rifle clattered to the roof and Merle moved in on it, snatching it up and away before Guerrero could change his mind about shooting Merle.

"Look, I done what I could, man, an' y'gotta move past it. Y'said yourself that it's best t'not get attached t'people now 'cause y'never know when they're gonna suddenly be gone. I had t'do that with Daryl."

"You only thought he was dead, asshole. You didn't see him die and you didn't have to kill him. Not like Fletcher who had to put a bullet in his infant son's head because the biters tore off the boy's leg. Bet you didn't know about that because you're a selfish barrel of rotting shit who doesn't know what it's like to be the last one standing while your family's killed around you and you don't give a flying fuck if this town burns to the ground as long as you're still standing when it does."

Guerrero had just given Merle valuable information in the form of a projection into Guerrero's past. The man had had family and they were cut down by biters or worse and Guerrero was the sole survivor. But he also thought Merle was responsible for Erica's death and if there was one thing Merle couldn't stomach in this world or the previous one, it was being blamed for something he didn't do, so he popped Guerrero in the mouth with his fist.

"Say somethin' else, motherfucker."

Guerrero rose up and kicked Merle in the stomach with a flying roundhouse attack so that Merle stumbled. But it only took Merle a second to recover and when he did, he shoved against Guerrero with his shoulder, forcing him right up to the edge of the rooftop. The back of Guerrero's thighs hit the siding and he took an ungainly step backward, arms windmilling to grab something to prevent him from falling. Merle grabbed the front of his shirt just as Guerrero's fingers found a handhold on Merle's face.

Shaking Guerrero's hand off, Merle stepped on Guerrero's foot to help steady him, but also let him lean far out into open space. The rooftop was obscured from the town's view by the trees growing up alongside the building, so there was no risk of having anyone seeing Merle dangling Guerrero over the edge of the roof.

"Now you listen here, fuckwad, I could letcha fall, but I ain't gonna 'cause like it or not, you're the best gunman here and I gotta utilize that. The Governor did kill Fletcher an' he's the reason more people than that are dead. He's gotta be taken out an' I aim t'do it, but I'mma need the support've more'n just m'brother. 'F I tell ya what really happened, I wanna know that you ain't gonna knife me in the back when it all goes down."

Guerrero let himself go spread-eagle to show that he was completely at Merle's mercy.

"Erica's alive an' as safe as she can be. She, Andrea, an' Elliot're all together with the group've people Andrea was originally with. An' Michonne's there too. I wasn't about t'bring none've 'em back here after the Governor made it clear that they're worth shit t'him, so I didn't have no choice but t'take 'em where I did. Y'wanna see Erica, y'gotta help me out here. I hate admittin' it, but with Fletcher dead an' the rest've the good fighters gone, I'mma need you, or the whole thing goes up in smoke. You, Wes, an' Tate are the only soldiers I got t'work with right now. So you can either work with me, or you can fall. Your choice, but y'gotta make up your mind quick-like, 'cause my arm's gettin' tired holdin' ya."

Guerrero reached up and clasped onto Merle's arm with both hands. "If I go over, you're going with me, so tell me honest-to-God that you're telling the truth. Swear on your brother's life that Erica's alive."

"If she weren't, I'dda pitched you over the side for drawin' a gun on me," said Merle, and that was as good of a confession Guerrero was going to get because Merle wouldn't swear on Daryl's life for anything.

"Then I'm all yours, dude," said Guerrero, and Merle hauled him back up.

/ /

Merle knew that Milton had gone out somewhere and he had a pretty good idea of where he had gone, but he seemed to be the only one who noticed Milton's absence. By sundown, Milton was back and behind his swollen eye, he looked resigned to deliver some extremely bad news as he trudged back to his room. Knowing that any news he had to deliver from the prison could only be for himself and Daryl, Merle had Tim cover for Daryl on curfew duty and the two of them went and knocked on Milton's door.

Milton didn't even look at them as he opened the door and allowed both of them in. After shutting the door behind them and locking it for good measure, Milton handed a hastily written letter to Daryl and then a much longer sheet of paper to Merle that had Andrea's loopy handwriting on it. He read through what she had to say, his scowl deepening with each word as she pleaded with him to keep a clear head and put the needs of the many before the needs of the few, meaning himself and Daryl. She asked him to stop being an asshole and use Milton's alliance to his advantage since Milton was a better bet on winning over Woodbury than Daryl. And then she implored him to not go ape-shit when Daryl left.

 _Daryl left?_

"What's this shit?" asked Merle, holding up the letter to Milton and shaking it somewhat threateningly.

"I'm going to make this as plain as I can," said Milton quietly with a quick glance at the window and door, looking weary for reasons that Merle couldn't understand. "I am and always have been on your side as long as your aim was to keep Woodbury standing. I have invested everything into making this place worth living in and I will stay here until it crumbles, which means I'll take on Phillip with or without your help. If I have your support, I need your complete commitment and concentration, which means taking your brother out of the picture for reasons Andrea explained in her letter and for reasons Rick, Hershel, and the others addressed in the message to Daryl. If you really want to help, you have to stop stalling and thinking about yourself. If you can't do that, then go. Sneak out tonight while you still can, take Daryl with you, and don't come back because Phillip will have you shot if you do. Try your luck on the road, or go to the prison and keep them safe, but I can't work with you only half-assing your way through this, so you either go or you stay, but you have to decide tonight."

"Now hold up one minute here, just who the hell d'you think you are tellin' me what I gotta do—"

"He's right," said Daryl and to Merle's immense surprise and resentment, Daryl folded up the letter without revealing its contents and tucked it into his pant pocket. "It was a bad move comin' here, bro. The Governor's tried t'keep both've us busy doin' things that'll keep us separate ever since I got here so that we don't have no time t'talk about getting' rid've 'im, and you can be damn sure that's what he's afraid of. Me showin' up is the worst thing that couldda happened t'him an' he'll be tryin' t'get rid've me just like he done that other guy. He'll make it look like an accident, send me on a suicide mission, or do somethin' t'put me outta the picture an' then you'll be his loyal lieutenant again."

"I ain't stupid," said Merle. "He can feed the town all the righteous crap he wants, but I don't buy it."

"I can't stay here. I gotta go back t'my people, bro, and you gotta take care've him. Y'said y'got Guerrero now, an' that's better than he has."

"I didn't go through hell t'getchoo back behind safe walls just t'see your ugly ass walkin' off into the distance t'be with _your people_ , an' what kinda bullshit is that anyway? They ain't your people," said Merle as he dug his finger into Daryl's chest. "I am, an' I'm the only people y'got."

"Blood ain't the only thing that matters now," said Daryl, pushing back at Merle. "When I found out that they'd left you behind in Atlanta, I was ready t'kill all've 'em for you, but knowin' you, you deserved it an' they were in the right stoppin' you from killin' for no good reason. I wouldda put every last one've 'em down 'cause you taught me that y'defend your kin, not matter what and ain't nobody worth shit 'cept family—blood. But they all been there for me when no one else was, not even you. After what I did, they still kept me, an' we've been through a lot together. They're my family, an' they're a hell've a lot better than the one I had. I'd die for any've 'em, but I don't wanna live for you. I wanna live _with_ you, bro. I wantchoo t'be there, but that's only gonna happen if y'get that thought outta your head that nobody's worth it if they don't share blood."

"Ain't nobody's willin' t'go that far unless they's blood," Merle countered.

"Then why's Andrea still alive, huh? Why's that guy whose arm y'cut off still alive? Why didn't y'leave none've 'em behind an' saved yourself like y'always do? Weren't nothin' an' nobody makin' you do whatchoo done, butchoo did an' y'didn't get no reward for it neither. That ain't the brother I know."

"Well, the brother I know ain't this soft-ass shit you've become," snapped Merle.

"You chose your own people, Merle. I seen it an' nobody can claim that they know you better'n me. Andrea, Guerrero, all them people who was with you at the gas station—an' that Fletcher guy: they's all your claim an' y'fight for 'em 'cause y'wanna. That's how I see Rick an' the others. They belong t'me, they're mine, an' I'm theirs. I belong with 'em, not here. You don't belong here neither, butchoo do belong with your people, so y'do whatchoo gotta do t'keep 'em, an' if y'need help from the outside, y'know you've got it, but I can't do no good here. I'll only get us both in more shit. So I'll go back an' you'll finish this."

"Y'leave now an' the Governor's gonna know somethin's up. He'll send out trackers t'finish you off just like he did with Michonne, 'cept he ain't gonna tell me 'til it's too late this time."

"I'll make sure that doesn't happen," said Milton.

"You stay outta this," said Merle venomously. He was feeling exceptionally hostile toward Milton at the moment.

"Don't take it out on him," said Daryl, coming to Milton's defense which was definitely not in Daryl's character—or at least, not the Daryl Merle thought he remembered. And besides that, there was the fact that Merle had never heard Daryl say so much in one go without losing his temper or throwing something. "You're my brother, Merle, but that don't mean we belong together. I'm sorry t'haveta leave these people with someone like the Governor in charge, but y'gotta choose your battles an' this one ain't mine—not from inside the walls. I gotta protect my people first an' so do you, so this's where we gotta go our own ways again."

"You can sneak over the fence between the lab and this building when they switch the guard fifteen minutes from now," said Milton.

"Hold the fort best y'can, Sunshine," said Daryl with a nod to Milton. He turned to Merle, but never had there been more of an awkward goodbye. They never said goodbyes for the short amount of time that they had been in camp together in Atlanta because it was just another day out hunting game. Most of their partings had taken place with Merle turning his back on his little brother and pretending not to know the face Daryl made in his wake or to hear the cries of fury as Daryl cursed him to hell.

Daryl said Merle had changed, but Merle had never been less pleased to admit it. He _had_ become a different person, and that made him all the more different from Daryl, made them strangers to one another, so for the first time, Daryl would go his way and Merle would have to stay behind and endure until he come to terms with this new soul that had taken over his body. Daryl would walk away and Merle would know exactly where he was, which was relatively safe, while Merle willingly walked into the lion's den because Merle had given everything for these people he had told Andrea he cared nothing for. A life-threatening illness couldn't even prevent him from going to the aid of the people he had rescued and protected on numerous occasions, which was something he'd only ever done for Daryl and even then, he'd done it with selfish and wrong intentions, but with these people, he'd done it because it felt right. He didn't have to like these people and God knew he had no great love for Milton, but he had chosen to be the brawn to Milton's brain, the brute to Andrea's tameness, the strength to Guerrero's agility. Like it or not, he _had_ chosen these people and even if he couldn't quite call them _his_ as Daryl could call the prison group, Merle knew he was responsible for them.

So he and Daryl had to part ways to protect these people they had thrown in their lots with, even if that meant separating, because despite being brothers—and not even loving, supportive brothers at that or anything that would qualify them as sympathetic beings—they had survived with outsiders, which went against the old Dixon code. And seeing as how the old Dixon code had helped Merle get a hand sawed off, he thought, _to hell with it_.

"I mean it," said Daryl, holding out his left hand to Merle, "y'need me, an' I'll be there."

Merle figured Daryl might have added, _Even though you never were for me_ , but his brother didn't, and for that, Merle was grateful. He shook Daryl's hand, but didn't watch him go, opting to look at Milton instead who had a twisted look of relief on his face coupled with sorrow.

"So," said Merle, "what didja have in mind?"


	29. Chapter 29: The Walls Close In

**MILTON**

He had already planned to be up at six o'clock anyway, but when he heard someone banging on his door ten minutes before, Milton jammed his feet into his shoes without doing up the laces and tripped over to answer it. He came face-to-face with Guerrero who gave Milton a once-over and his permanently cocked eyebrow rose even higher.

"How the hell are you already dressed at this hour, dude? I'm only ready to go because I was on the last shift of the night and my relief just covered for me, otherwise I'd still be dead-to-the-world-in-bed. There's no rush to start the day in the apocalypse."

"Habit, I suppose," said Milton with an innocent shrug. It was true enough; he never saw the use of sleeping in since it left less time to get things done and less motivation to do so anyway. "What's the matter?"

"Governor wants all off-duty soldiers in the lab. Big news, I guess because some of them just got back from a nightlong excursion doing God-knows-what."

Milton blinked but then remembered that he was technically a soldier, if an inexperienced one at that. He was too preoccupied mulling over the nagging suspicion that Phillip had found out that Daryl escaped Woodbury, but he tucked his shoelaces into his shoes to save some time and followed Guerrero to the lab where the other twenty or so soldiers were waiting for the last early morning stragglers to arrive. Merle was already there and the briefest of glances that passed between them consisted of Merle giving Milton a look that said, _Don't you say a word._

Phillip was the last to arrive and judging by the bags under his eyes, he looked like he hadn't slept all night. He pushed Milton's research aside on one of the larger tables so that several papers toppled to the floor. Using some books as paperweights, he rolled out a map of the county and then with a black Sharpie, drew a large, angry circle around the prison.

"There's people livin' here, and they're friends've Daryl's," said Phillip with an early-morning grogginess to his voice, but even that couldn't disguise his burning anger.

"What?" said Merle, playing his part well in looking like the proper confused elder brother.

Phillip turned his head slowly to look at Merle in an attempt to detect any lies but to his credit, Merle stood his ground and managed to work his face into an expression of obliviousness and defensiveness.

"Your brother snuck out've Woodbury last night right after curfew. Don't tell me y'didn't know about this?"

"Well, I'm standin' here shocked, ain't I? How d'you know it was Daryl that snuck out? He ain't got no reason t'leave—"

"Turns out Daryl knew where his ol' group was the whole time he was here, Merle," said Phillip, drumming his fingers against the map. "I had some've my men track 'im right back to the prison up road a'ways. From what they report, there were only five or six people out in the yard, but there could be more inside. The point is, they were able to take back that place when we all knew it was overrun. A measly handful've people managed to kill all've the biters in that prison on their own, which makes 'em dangerous."

"But," said Milton quickly before Phillip could get to the part where he would single the prison group out as a threat to Woodbury, "if they've been there long enough to clear the place out, they might have already scouted the surrounding area to find any other camps that might pose a threat to them, which means that there's a strong possibility that they already know we're here and chose not to confront us because they want to be left alone. If they haven't at least tried to bargain with us, I don't think they mean us any harm."

"I admire your determination to see the good in everyone, Milton, but these people aren't like that," said Phillip, turning back toward Merle. "I suspect that Daryl always knew they were there and might've even been sent to us to find out what we're capable of. I think whoever's in charge at that prison sent 'im to scout us out, but when he ran into Merle, he was just lucky enough to get a free pass inside. Then he got 'imself a good long look around to find out what his group was up against and bailed once he'd tallied up the numbers. So he's sittin' back there at the prison discussin' this with his people right now, most likely figurin' out how they're gonna take this place out from under us."

"No," said Merle, and Milton wondered how on earth he could shoot Merle an inconspicuous look that told him to keep his mouth shut without the others noticing. "That ain't like Daryl. He don't got a reason t'do something like that, 'specially not'f I'm here. He wouldn't kill people for no good reason an' he don't work for nobody neither; he don't take orders."

"That was evident enough from the second he walked through that gate, but the facts are laid out plain for you, Merle. Your brother's a traitor to Woodbury, which makes him a traitor to you because you belong to Woodbury. Your brother chose those people at the prison over you; he doesn't want you, so that should tell you that the deep sense've loyalty that you kept tellin' me for months was what would bring 'im back here was worth shit in the end. He's not one've us, which makes him our enemy."

Even though Merle and Milton both knew that Phillip's proclamation couldn't be farther from the truth, Merle still had to stand there and listen to Phillip say such derogatory things about his brother—and that was something Merle was physically incapable of doing.

"He ain't thinkin' straight. But he wouldn't sell nobody out unless he had a damn good reason an' them bastards that left me in Atlanta ain't a good enough reason. He ain't no traitor."

"Well, my scouts are standin' here and they'd beg to differ with you," said Phillip, inviting Benson and Tulio to speak.

"The little bastard was walking with a purpose," said Benson, sneering at Merle in obvious pleasure at Merle's rage. "He knew where he was going and the people at the prison opened their gates up for him, no questions asked. They knew him and they knew he'd be coming back."

"I ain't takin' no stock in what comes outta your mouth when you ain't even lookin' straight with both eyes," said Merle in an open insult to the taboo subject of Benson's lazy eye.

"Tulio saw it too, Merle," said Phillip. "We can't know their true motives, but there's no lie in what was there for everyone with good or bad eyes to see. And though I appreciate your sense've loyalty, that trait doesn't run dominant in the Dixon gene pool to my knowledge. Your brother didn't stay long enough to prove himself and just painted a target on his back by throwin' in his lot with a group we don't know."

Milton allowed himself a slight breath of relief. The loyalty Phillip spoke of was what had just saved Merle because due to Merle's incapability of letting any slight to his brother's honor go unchallenged, he had convinced Phillip that he had no knowledge of Daryl leaving. For the time being, Merle was safe.

"So what d'you want us to do?" asked Guerrero.

"We're not gonna sit here and wait for them t'bring the attack to us; we're gonna go out to the prison and meet with 'em. I'll talk to their leader and we'll see if we can come up with a peaceful negotiation. I want 'em t'know exactly what kinda people they're dealin' with."

"As long as we keep the walls heavily guarded around the clock, we shouldn't need to worry about an attack from the outside," Milton reasoned, trying to delay a visit to the prison as long as possible.

"Is that a chance you're willin' t'take with people you don't know?" Phillip challenged. "Are you willin' t'risk the lives've everyone here in Woodbury on the hunch that these people may or may not attack us?"

As a matter of fact, yes, because at the moment, the only enemy was Phillip himself and his supporters, but Milton couldn't tell _him_ that. He wanted to avoid bloodshed if possible, but with how Phillip was beginning to make hasty, bull-headed decisions as an attempt to quash any doubts the people in Woodbury had about his leadership, that wasn't a likely outcome. Either Milton went along with Phillip's plans and survived, or he exposed himself for what he really was and risk the lives of everyone in Woodbury.

Phillip dismissed them and told them to meet at the vehicle lot in fifteen minutes fully prepared to move out. Martinez would be left in charge, for Phillip wanted Merle, Milton, and Guerrero with him, though all for different reasons, Milton suspected. He had no reason yet to suspect Guerrero and wanted him there for his sniping abilities; he wanted Milton to act as the negotiator because Milton came across as physically inept and wouldn't pose a threat to the prison group (even though the group already knew Milton), and he wanted Merle present to lure Daryl out while carefully monitoring Merle's actions and reactions to judge him on his true loyalties.

Milton needed to voice this concern quickly before going to the prison, so he ran after Merle and caught up with him in the alley between the lounge and the infirmary.

"What do we do?" he whispered frantically as he leaned in close to Merle so that they wouldn't be overhead.

"For starters, we don't piss ourselves, calm the hell down," said Merle, shooing Milton away from him. "We ain't even the ones he's after an' you're shakin' like y'been holdin' in the shits for twelve hours."

" _Andrea_ is someone he's after, though, or have you forgotten? No matter what he says, Phillip isn't going to let her or Daryl pass on this. If the prison falls, Phillip will demand that they both be punished—"

"He can fuckin' try t'put his hands on my brother. See what happens if he does, I swear I'll kill 'im."

"Yes, well, bypassing that, let's think about the here and now. What do we do _right now_?"

"Y'go an' talk t'the twins. I'mma see who else I can find that'll support us in a fight."

"And if we don't have enough people to back us up?"

"I know this's gonna be hard for you, Miltie, but play dumb. Y'ain't never been to the prison an' y'don't know nothin' about Andrea, Elliot, an' Erica bein' there. An' for God's sake, don't lookit me every time somethin' happens. Y'couldn't be more obvious."

"Well, excuse me, I'm a bit concerned for the people I care about."

"Act like y'aren't, or he'll be onto you. Y'better learn a good poker face real quick, Miltie, 'cause your bullshittin' ship's sinkin' fast and I ain't goin' down with ya."

Dejected and confused, Milton gathered ammunition for his weapons and headed back to the vehicles where a nine-man team was already assembling. Phillip was loading their bazooka into the covered truck bed when Milton approached him.

"Explain to me how a bazooka tells them that we come in peace," said Milton disapprovingly.

"This's just insurance. Can't be too careful," said Phillip. He turned around and clapped Milton's shoulder, but the pressure Milton felt there was more of a warning to play by Phillip's rules or get out of the game. One slip up and Phillip would come completely unhinged at the loss of his closest ally and advisor, but Milton was starting to feel trapped between the few good friends he knew he had at the prison and the dozens of oblivious people in Woodbury. Both sides depended on Milton disposing of the wild card that was Phillip before any damage could be done, but all of Milton's careful planning would be for nothing if something happened at the prison and he didn't remove Phillip from power. But how could he act now? He'd run out of time.

"I'm trustin' you t'be calm and talk us through this," said Phillip as he climbed up into the driver's seat of the truck. "Let those people in the prison know that we've got somethin' better than they have and that we're willin' t'share it for a price."

"What happens if they aren't willing to assimilate to Woodbury's society?"

"We give 'em the same welcome we gave those U.S. Army soldiers."


	30. Chapter 30: Always Something Worse

**ANDREA**

Hershel's order of the day for Elliot was sunlight, so Oscar had carried Elliot in his arms like a child out into the courtyard while he and T-Dog continued to search the prison for a wheelchair that Elliot could use. Meanwhile, Axel kept Elliot company as Andrea made her rounds at the fence that separated the inner courtyard from the outer yard where Rick and Glenn were plotting out the areas for crops. Maggie stood on watch at the far tower that oversaw the road.

Elliot was teaching Axel to play chess on a set Carl had found in the C.O's lounge, but Axel seemed more intent on describing the effects of the various drugs he had tried. He used vivid gestures in his narration and nearly knocked the chessboard over a few times so that Elliot had to steadily pull it away from his reach.

"…and lemme tell ya, after a shot've that, you'll be on your ass for days. Believe me, if I still had some of that shit, I'd be the one who'd need a wheelchair instead've you, partner."

"My legs work fine," said Elliot bitterly, claiming Axel's second rook without any real conviction since Axel wasn't committed to the game. "I'm just weak after losing all of that blood and it was absolutely humiliating being carried out here."

"That's only 'cause Oscar's a giant," said Axel with a wave of his hand. "Everybody looks small in his arms."

"All the same, a wheelchair won't do me any good because I can only steer one wheel. An arm is the worst possible limb to lose right now because I only have one hand to rely on my survival."

"Well, gee, that sorta sounds selfish when Hershel's limpin' around on one leg," said Axel with a shrug. "At least you can still run if shit goes down. Poor old timer's gonna be shit outta luck if we gotta hustle."

"I think it's a matter of perspective," said Andrea. "It's hard to lose an arm or a leg, especially now, but Hershel has managed to deal with it and Merle's been one hand short for a year now."

"But he still has another arm. I'm completely lopsided because there's nothing there," said Elliot, displaying the empty sleeve of his shirt.

"That's petty shit, man. From what I hear, Merle sawed his own hand off 'cause he was too impatient to wait for help, but you were bitten and it had to come off. Tough shit, but you gotta deal with that shit, man."

"Is shit one of the only words in your vocabulary?" asked Elliot heatedly.

"No, but it's one of my favorites," replied Axel, apparently having missed Elliot's sarcasm.

"He is right, though, Elliot; you have a lot to be grateful for, but all I've heard from you since I stopped giving you blood is complaints."

"Well, excuse me, but I think I earned the right to do a little bit of bitching about this."

"We've all survived a lotta shit, but y'don't see us bitchin' about everythin'," Axel pointed out.

Elliot swiped the pieces off of the chessboard so that Axel gave him a look equivalent to a pouting child.

"'Choo go and do that for? I was winnin'."

"Elliot, Hershel wants to know if you're staying hydrated out here," called Erica from the inner building door where she stood on Hershel's crutches.

On the verge of answering, Elliot rotated in his seat on the bleachers to face the gate, and when he spotted something on the road, what little color he had in his face drained out. "Erica, stop right there. Go back inside now and don't you dare come out."

"Why?" called Erica, stopping herself from going down the stairs.

"The Governor's here," said Elliot ominously. "And if Merle told everyone you were dead, it's going to get him in some serious trouble if you waltz out into the open. Go inside and tell the others that we have company."

Andrea turned to the road and saw a convoy of about four vehicles churning up dust as they approached. She hollered to Rick and pointed at the road as she started to jog down to meet him and Glenn and then the three of them cautiously approached the gate, keeping the watchtower on the left so that they could dodge behind it at a moment's notice.

"Maggie, keep your sights on the Governor if he's with 'em," Rick ordered and above, Maggie, backed into the tower so that she'd be unseen from the oncoming convoy. Rick, Glenn, and Andrea raised their weapons into firing position and Andrea began searching the cars for any sign of Phillip.

The cars pulled up to the gate but the drivers kept at least twenty feet between the front of the vehicles and the fence as they positioned their convoy horizontally. Andrea counted around thirteen men who all showed Rick their hands so that he wouldn't fire, but some of them looked more than ready to mow him down with gunfire. Merle stood up in the back of one of the trucks and Milton hopped out of the same pickup bed with a white handkerchief in hand to come and stand beside Phillip who had been driving the thing. Phillip planted his hands on his hips and gave an amused shake of his head.

"Andrea," he said. "I'm glad you made it out alive. Merle showed me your bag and shirt and I feared the worst. That was a lotta blood you lost."

Andrea didn't respond, looking from Merle to Milton and back again in search of any injuries Phillip may have inflicted on them, but besides Milton's swollen eye from the punch he took to the face from Merle, they both seemed relatively unscathed. Milton looked like he was fighting some internal battle of trying not to seem relieved to see her, but she could tell that the sight of her standing on the other end of Phillip's guns wasn't exactly reassuring. He bit his lip, standing with his hands at rest at his sides, and in complete opposition was Merle who was still standing in the truck bed with his assault rifle pointed skyward. He seemed almost bored with the situation, but when Andrea caught his eye, she detected a very visible swallow in his throat.

"Well, I'll be damned," said Phillip, looking past Andrea to where Axel was helping Elliot walk the last few feet to the fence. "Of everything I could have expected to happen today, that was not somethin' that was on the list. Y'really done a number on yourself, Elliot. How'd you lose that arm?"

"Technically, thanks to you," Elliot snarled, keeping his hand at his holster where his pistol was as Axel held him upright.

"How're you copin'?"

"I'm coping by turn the fuck around and get lost, that's how I'm coping."

Phillip blanched and his grip on his gunbelt tightened. Andrea moved instinctively in front of Elliot and made a shooing motion to tell Axel to take Elliot back up to the courtyard.

"Get him outta here," Rick hissed at Axel.

"Seein' Andrea and Elliot out here tells me that Erica's probably inside," Phillip mused, "but I don't see how she could be 'cause Merle told me she was dead, isn't that right, Merle?"

"She is," said Merle firmly.

"What?" said Elliot quickly in a passable look of incredulity.

"She's dead, Ellie," said Benson. "Her and Fletcher bit the dust a few days ago."

"How?" Andrea demanded, staring determinedly at Phillip so that she wouldn't be tempted to let a stray look toward Merle or Milton give her away.

"That's not important," began Phillip, but Elliot cut him off.

"Not important?" he repeated furiously. "It was always important when one of Woodbury's soldiers died and Erica and Fletcher gave more to that town than any of you bastards here, including you, Guerrero. I know you're there in the back of the jeep."

Guerrero sat up fully, resting his rifle against the seat beside him and Andrea swore under her breath. She never would have guessed that he was there, and yet he'd been hiding in plain sight the entire time, most likely planted by Phillip. Whether or not Guerrero was working with Merle and Milton remained to be seen, but he was exceptionally good at his craft, so why could Elliot detect him, unless it was just a hunch that Elliot was playing off of? Did Elliot know Guerrero was there because he'd seen him, or was he just guessing? Or, did Guerrero allow himself to be spotted so that he'd have an excuse to not fire at any of the prison group and Phillip couldn't blame him for it?

"Hey, dude," said Guerrero with his wry smile.

"Don't you 'hey, dude' me, you son of a bitch," snapped Elliot. "How can you still be working for this prick when he let Erica get killed and then dismiss her death like it was nothing? She was _your_ girlfriend, or have you moved on to Becky already?"

"Not cool, dude. Shut your goddamn mouth," said Guerrero, rising up out of his seat.

"Guerrero, stand down," ordered Phillip. "Andrea, Elliot, Woodbury needs you both back badly. The people trusted you; they're lookin' for your guidance. Please, come back—"

"Come back to what? The promise of rape?" shouted Andrea.

Phillip had the audacity to try and pretend like this was news to him as some of the soldiers muttered amongst themselves. Guerrero looked like he was seriously reconsidering his choice in employers, Merle swallowed again and Milton shook his head ever so slightly at Andrea, perhaps to warn her to not upset Phillip further, but Andrea was past caring about that. Phillip was still alive, which meant that Merle and Milton had run out of time to show Woodbury what sort of man he was before he declared war on the prison, so she had to do everything she could to help them out now, though what good exposing him as a rapist would do, she didn't know, because most of the men in the army weren't entirely against the idea.

"I think you've been traumatized, Andrea, but you'd never know just by lookin' at you," said Phillip sycophantically as his eyes raked the front of Andrea's shirt. "This place looks like it needs more protectin' than you've got people t'do it; I expect you're dog-tired. What you need is a good, long rest and proper medical treatment. You need t'come home," said Phillip, nodding to her and Elliot. "Both've you."

"I'll cut your dick off first and shove it up your own ass," Andrea promised.

"Don't count on it, bitch," said Merle coldly.

Andrea was almost positive that the venom Merle put into that statement was entirely false, but a small part of her suspected that he was angry with her for making Daryl leave. And of course, Merle couldn't show any favoritism toward her in the presence of Phillip—or any others. He only ever showed more than contempt for her when they were alone. Still, it stung to hear those words come from Merle's mouth.

"I don't think we need to resort to such crude terms when addressing each other," said Milton in Andrea's defense.

"Look, they don't belong to anyone," said Rick firmly. "They go where they want and if that's not with you, then you're shit outta luck. You can't force 'em to go with you and since they don't seem to be volunteerin', I think we're done here."

"Sure I can't change your minds? Woodbury's stocked high with supplies, supplies you need t'treat your wounded, supplies that'll help you survive the winter."

"We're not in the charity-acceptin' business right now, so like I said, we're done here," said Rick.

"Where's Daryl?" asked Merle abruptly. "I want that asshole out here now."

"I'm not gonna say it again." Rick gestured at his rifle threateningly. "Clear off now."

"Now, let's not make this into somethin' ugly. We came under a white flag; we're not lookin' for trouble," said Phillip, raising his hands in surrender. "I had some've my people follow Daryl back here and we decided t'make the drive because we thought it'd be worth it t'try and extend our hospitality to y'all. I didn't expect t'find Andrea and Elliot, though, but they were my people for a while, so you'll understand that it's difficult for me t'let 'em go just like that. Woodbury's always open t'those who need it and people're free t'come and go, but I thought these two planned on stayin' a while."

"You thought wrong. You have ten seconds," said Andrea.

Phillip's shoulders dropped in defeat, but his eyes were still maliciously hooked on Andrea. She didn't know what she saw there, but like anything related to Phillip, it was much more dangerous than anyone could anticipate in the moment. As Phillip slid back into the driver's seat and the rest of the soldiers piled back into the cars, Andrea kept her sights on him, ready to fire as soon as he showed signs of aggression. Merle sat down in the truck bed as Milton clambered back in beside him and Andrea could have sworn that she saw him wink at her, but he was too far away to tell. The cars reversed, turned, and began to head back up the road. Phillip's truck was now the last vehicle in the convoy and Andrea could see Merle and Milton speaking to each other.

"That seemed too easy," said Glenn.

"That's because it was," said Andrea. "Something worse is coming."


	31. Chapter 31: War is Coming

**MERLE**

Andrea was still watching him even as she grew smaller and smaller behind him. It had only been a few days since last Merle had seen her, and yet he already felt so disconnected from her as if they'd spent another ten or so months apart. Seeing her with the metallic links of the fence between them, Merle didn't know how he should be feeling, but he knew he had to sell his disdain for her if he wanted to put himself back in good favor with the Governor.

Merle sat facing the prison as his truck moved on down the road. Beside him, Milton was jotting down something in his moleskin notebook and across from him, Kendall and another man, Bernard, were joking about something irrelevant.

The Governor pounded on the glass with his fist and then pushed the small middle window aside so that those in the truck bed could hear him. "Fire," he told Kendall.

"Wait, what?" said Milton quickly, dropping his notebook.

"No!" shouted Merle, reaching across the truck bed to grab Kendall's arm, but the latter had already fired.

The missile hit the watchtower, raining debris down on the group that was still gathered at its base. Merle snatched the binoculars from Milton and pressed them to his eyes, half-standing so that Milton had to hold onto his pant leg to keep him from falling out of the truck. Merle saw Glenn screaming and running for the watchtower while Merle's fellow redneck Axel shielded Elliot from the chunks of concrete still hailing down on them. Andrea sat up and Merle sighed inwardly with relief, but then he saw Rick aiming his rifle at them and Merle dropped down to his knees before pulling Milton flat beside him as bullets struck the back of the truck.

The Governor swerved, but another man beside Merle cried out in pain before they took the turn that put them out of sight of the prison. Continuing to gun the gas, the Governor kept pace with the other cars until Merle sat up and banged his fist on the window behind the Governor's seat.

"Stop the fuckin' car!" Merle roared and the Governor screeched to a halt so that Merle nearly went flying through the window. He honked the horn and the other three cars stopped at intervals ahead of them. As the Governor climbed out of the driver's seat, Merle jumped down out of the truck bed despite Milton tugging at his pant leg, begging him not to lose his temper.

"Merle, please, don't—"

"What the fuck was that?" Merle demanded, gesturing back in the direction of the prison. "My brother could've been in that tower! I thoughtchoo was gonna leave it alone? What in the ever-livin' fu—"

"Are you questionin' my authority, Merle?" asked the Governor in a tone that made Merle stop dead in his tracks.

Yes, Merle was absolutely questioning the Governor's authority: questioning it and challenging it, but like Milton had been trying to warn him, Merle only had two sure allies right now. Three of them against nine of the others, and even with Merle and Guerrero being the most accurate, quickest, and deadliest shots in all of Woodbury, they didn't stand a chance in such close quarters. And Merle was already treading a thin line by continuously slipping up in the Governor's eyes. One more wrong step and he was out and in this game, coming in second place wasn't an option for the living.

"I asked you a question, Merle."

"I—"

Milton came to Merle's rescue in the only way he knew how: by using his words over his actions.

"Phillip, those people didn't do anything to harm us. They weren't a threat and you shot at them, unprovoked."

"I wasn't gonna let them be the ones t'spill our blood first," said the Governor. "And no one back home needs t'know that. As far as anyone's concerned, _they_ shot at _us_ , and we've got proof right there in Bernard's arm. Our people will see how dangerous these outsiders are, and they'll be vigilant when I tell 'em t'be. There won't be any doubt in their minds that I know how t'defend my people and that this prison group is nothin' but a bunch've savages."

"They had a boy with them," said Milton pleadingly. "He couldn't have been older than eleven or twelve. And if they have a boy, maybe they have other kids or elderly or injured people. You saw that one man wearing the prison jump suit; they just found him when they moved in there and they took him in when they could have just killed him off for being a nuisance to them. But they didn't, because they're not heartless."

The Governor pointed out the bullet holes in the truck bed and the broken glass where the gunfire had just missed Milton when Merle pulled him down.

"They almost did _that_ t'you, Milton."

"Because you shot a bazooka at them and probably just killed one of them!" Milton exclaimed, now red in the face. "This is bullshit! Those are innocent people and you want them dead because—"

Merle grabbed the back of Milton's shirt and started hauling him toward the truck.

"Get off of me!" shouted Milton, clawing at Merle's arm to no effect.

"Oh, shuddap."

Merle shoved him into the side of the truck and gave him a good firm push, which sent him toppling back into the truck bed. As he began to sit up, Merle climbed in after him and put his boot on Milton's chest.

"Stay down, dammit," he hissed, then gestured back up the road. "They'll be comin' after us if they ain't already; we'd best move."

The Governor didn't look like he bought Merle's deflection, but he made a circular motion in the air as if to say, _round 'em up_ , and everyone climbed back into their vehicles. Merle allowed Milton to finally sit up and have a look at Bernard's arm when they were halfway home. Milton said nothing to Merle the rest of the ride home and was one of the first people out when the vehicles entered Woodbury. The Governor called everyone to the truck and launched into the predicted speech about how everyone within would need to show bravery and alertness in the days to come as he exhibited Bernard's wound and the bullet holes in the truck. All of Woodbury reacted in unison with gasps of horror and exclamations of fear and some even called for immediate retribution in demanding that the prison group be demolished.

The Governor wanted those innocent people at the prison dead not only because they were just as powerful, if not more powerful than the U.S. Army soldiers he'd had executed, but because Andrea was with them, and if there was one thing the Governor couldn't stand, it was having someone else keep possession of something he thought was rightfully his. With Merle's influence, he had rescued Andrea, so he saw her as his property. He saw Elliot as his property as well because he'd found Elliot stuck up in a tree with biters surrounding the trunk. Most of the people in Woodbury were what he considered to be his except for Guerrero, which was why the Governor had influence over nearly everyone.

He wanted Andrea back, though, and he was willing to have an entire town fight his battles for him to get her because Merle had beaten him to the catch and then helped her escape before the Governor could get his hands on her. Merle had experienced the one thing the Governor wanted most, so for all intents and purposes, Merle really shouldn't be alive right now.

"…everyone capable of holding a weapon is gonna learn how t'use one; no exceptions," said the Governor. "I'm not promotin' child soldiers here, but everyone's gotta know how t'defend themselves, so startin' tomorrow, Merle, Guerrero, and Martinez are gonna be trainin' everyone in shifts. Everyone pulls double weight now; everyone stays alert and no one goes in or out unless approved by me."

On that happy note, Merle headed straight for Nathan who was standing beside Tate, Wes, and Nina at the edge of the crowd and when the Governor sent them all on their merry way, Merle pulled the boy off to the side.

"Y'know what's goin' on right now, don'tcha?"

"Kinda," said Nathan. "The Governor says people out there want to hurt us."

"Well, he ain't wrong, but the people he's talkin' about don't wanna hurtchoo. Some people in here though…look, kid, I'mma explain somethin' to ya an' I needja t'listen good." Merle took a spare pistol out of his belt and showed it to the boy. "The Governor's gonna start makin' ya shoot with one've these, but he ain't gonna letchoo keep it. But I am. I'mma hide it in your apartment an' tell ya later, butchoo can't tell nobody, y'got it? If y'hear anythin' that sounds bad like a lotta gunshots an' screamin', you're gonna take that pistol, grab your sister, an' go hide in the infirmary in your mom's room. Y'lock the door an' don't let nobody in unless it's me, Milton, Guerrero, or Tate, y'unnerstand? If they try t'force their way in, y'shoot 'em."

"I can't shoot someone—" Nathan protested.

Merle knelt in front of the frightened boy so that they were on the same eye level. He saw Nathan exactly for what he was, which was a child that shouldn't need or know how to use a weapon, but Merle felt completely responsible for him and his sister since he hadn't done something to stop Wade before the bastard put the twins' mother in a coma, so Merle had to compensate.

"Y'know that Wade hurt your sister an' your ma, don'tchoo?"

Nathan nodded and there was a flash of anger at the mention of Wade's name. Merle decided to use that.

"Wade was a bad man. There's bad men like 'im still in Woodbury. Y'don't want any've 'em gettin' their hands on your family, do ya? Y'wanna keep 'em safe, don'tcha?"

"Yes, sir," said Nathan, wiping furiously at his eyes as he tried not to cry and Merle realized that the boy had the utmost respect for him because he saw Merle as the closest thing he had to a father. Despite being absolutely terrified at the prospect of having to use a gun, he was trying to fight off his fear and put on a brave face for his mother and sister. The kid had guts and with a pang in his stomach, Merle thought of Daryl at the same age.

"I'mma show y'how t'shoot proper so that you'll know how to, but that don't mean you'll _have_ to. Y'just gotta be ready, boy. Now wipe off your face so the Governor don't see you cryin'. No more've that, alright?"

"Yes, sir," said Nathan, sniffing as he put on the bravest face he could muster.

/ /

That evening, Merle was not the only one to visit the lounge since it seemed to have become a popular place to try and work off some excess energy and anxiety. The wall guard had been doubled and more platforms had been hastily set up on all sides so that there was no way in or out of Woodbury without being seen, but there were still some soldiers with downtime and they chose to play pool, drink the sparse amounts of alcohol they could find, and make complete asses of themselves while they still could because they, like Merle, sensed that this would be one of the last nights if not _the_ last night of peace.

Milton had also decided to visit the lounge and seemed to be trying to get drunk off of an expired can of grape soda. Merle plopped down in the rickety chair next to him and nudged the can with his knuckle.

"That shit's only gonna make ya hyper for about fifteen minutes an' then you're gonna have t'piss like crazy."

"What the hell do we do now?" asked Milton quietly, though he didn't seem to be talking to Merle. "We just weren't quick enough to do anything that might have helped save lives and now…we're all fuc—"

"I'm gonna kill 'im; we don't got another option," said Merle in an equally hushed voice.

"It's too late for that. You see what he's done? He's labeled the prison as the enemy that all of Woodbury can unite against and anything that happens to him from here on out will be their fault. If you kill him, everyone will assume it was Rick and the others and a full-scale war will break out."

"It already has. He fired first an' they fired back. That means it should be our move, but Rick won't wait. He'll be comin' 'cause the Governor killed whoever was up in that tower, an' it might've been my brother."

"You know damn well it wasn't, because if you really thought that, you'd be back at that prison trying to dig him out of the rubble instead of sitting here arguing with me. I don't know who the poor soul was in that watch tower, but I know Andrea was standing just below it and she could have been killed too. And I'm not going to pretend like I'm the only one who loves her when I saw how hard you were working to convincingly ignore her so Phillip wouldn't suspect you. You didn't try to stop Kendall from firing because you thought Daryl was in the tower; you were trying to protect Andrea."

"Didn't matter in the end, did it?" asked Merle, dodging around the main subject. "Somebody died an' if we can't kill the Governor now, a lot more people are gonna die before this is over."

Merle left Milton at the table to go take a leak in the restroom just off the lounge. Once inside, he saw Guerrero zipping up his pants and flushing the urinal furthest from the door.

"Hey, dude," said Guerrero, turning to the sink to rinse off his hands. "Rough day, huh?"

"Save it," said Merle, going to the sink beside Guerrero and splashing water into his face.

"So it looks like taking care've Big Hoss is outta the question," said Guerrero as he leaned against the wall beside the paper towel dispenser. "That's a real shame because I was gonna suggest making it look like a suicide. Write out a few words of a suicide note, but then slit his wrists and put a bullet through his mouth. Technically, it could still work, but I don't think you'd be down for it and after how you reacted at the prison, I'm pretty sure the Governor's gonna be keeping an eye out for you in case you try to double-cross him."

"Y'got somethin' useful t'say, jackass, 'cause none've this's helpin'," Merle snapped.

"All I'm saying is that those people seemed like a good group and if you were a dick to them before, shame on you. They should have shot your ass down for what you did, but they didn't and in return, you bring the Governor right up to their doorstep. Not cool, dude. You gotta earn yourself some brownie points here. Those are your people—"

"Now, don't start that shit," said Merle. "I got enough people tellin' me who my people are an' I got the same answer for you as I got for all the others; I ain't got no people."

Of course, he couldn't tell Guerrero that Merle's people actually consisted of Guerrero himself and a handful of others both at the prison and in Woodbury, but Rick, Glenn, and most of the people at the prison were _not_ his; they were Daryl's.

"That's what I thought for myself and for you, but hey, shit happens and we get stuck with people. Some've 'em grow on us and others are always a pain in the ass, but you know 'em well enough to trust 'em to do the right thing when the time comes. You protect those people you've got, dude. If they're all you have, fight for 'em, whatever it takes."

Whatever it takes.


	32. Chapter 32: Gateway

**MILTON**

The lounge cleared out by one in the morning as the men went to trade shifts with those who had been on duty last, leaving only Milton and Wes, the latter of whom was examining his hair in the cracked reflection over the bar. He gave a small tug and several tufts of hair came out in between his fingers.

"Oh, _shit_."

"What is it?" asked Milton, standing up and coming closer.

"It's starting," said Wes, showing Milton the clump of hair in his hand.

Milton said nothing, embarrassed for his friend in that Wes had tried to hide his cancer from everyone, including Tate, and to Milton's knowledge, only Dr. Stephens, Martinez, and himself knew about Wes's condition, but now everyone would want to know why Wes's hair was falling out unless Wes chose to shave it all off. But that would probably lead to another handful of questions.

"Have you told your brother yet?" asked Milton cautiously.

"No, and I wasn't planning on it. He doesn't need that kind of news right now, especially with everything that's going on."

"And if you die during this war, will it have been better that he never knew then?"

"There's not going to be a war," said Wes flatly. "I didn't even go to the prison and I can imagine what went down out there. I'm going to tell the people the truth before the Governor ends up getting us all killed because I'm not letting that psychopath be what brings the biters or worse inside the walls. I refuse to let my brother die for his cause, so I have to do whatever I can to leave his environment as safe as possible before I…before…"

One man taking on the Governor, now why did that sound so familiar? But just like Merle, Wes was ill-equipped to carry out the deed and even if he succeeded, what would happen to the town in the wake of Phillip's death? It was the same problem over and over again because of all the inaction that occurred since Phillip's return from the supply run. When Phillip demanded Michonne's head, Milton thought his friend was having a lapse of good judgment, but the decline had gone from a steady downhill progression to a straight-up nose-dive plunge from a sheer cliff. Now, there was no telling what Phillip would resort to, and his unpredictability was what truly scared Milton more than anything else inside or outside the walls.

If Phillip was willing to shoot Fletcher just to get a set of car keys and willing to give up Erica as dead because of too many _what ifs_ , how far would he go where the rest of the town was concerned? Would he murder just as needlessly as he had before, or would he try to hide it? And how long could Milton continue to allow it to happen and not act? Milton was the only one who knew Phillip well enough to get close to him, but Phillip also lost any respect he had for Milton after all the times Milton had challenged him lately.

There was a roadblock on the path Milton needed to take and no way around it that he could see that didn't involve mass bloodshed. Unless he let someone else try…

"If you can get close enough to him…" said Milton, trailing off, but Wes didn't need him to finish his sentence.

Feeling contaminated and filthy, Milton decided to accompany the back wall guard and while away the rest of the early morning on watch duty. Tate, Martinez, and Tim were on the wall, pacing the length and bumping into each other on the crowded walkway, but Milton knew none of them would object to him being up there so that he could bring some fresh energy to their weary eyes. Milton checked out his gear and joined the mindless pacing as he thought of who might have been in the watchtower. It was unlikely that Erica, Hershel, Carl, or Beth were up there, so that left Maggie, T-Dog, Oscar, Michonne, or Carol (and Milton was positive that Daryl wasn't up there) but no matter who it was, Milton was responsible for them because he hadn't done something to prevent the confrontation. How many more people would Milton have to add to his unintentional personal slaughter list?

What he needed right now was a conscience that told him to man the hell up and just do what needed to be done.

"You're drifting," said Tim presently, and Milton stopped pacing to accept the thermos that Tim was holding out to him. "Don't fall asleep on us. Here, guzzle some coffee. Might still be warm."

Faint tinges of dawn were coming as the sky above the treetops began to turn purple and Milton couldn't believe that he'd been on duty for four and a half hours. He lifted his glasses to rub at his eyes with his knuckles and then slapped his own face lightly to help himself wake up.

He accepted the thermos and tilted his head back to drain the mug. The coffee tasted rather watered-down like the coffee grounds had been reused several times, but there was certainly enough artificial sweeteners added in to make up for that. Cringing at the taste, Milton licked any excess droplets off of his lips and was about to thank Tim when he heard the echo of a gunshot from far off to his right. A second later, Tim plummeted off of the wall and as Milton heard the sickening crunch as Tim's body hit the asphalt below, Tate tackled Milton around the middle.

Gunfire erupted above them and as Milton lay on his side, covering his head to protect it from flying debris, he heard the town coming awake with shouts and screams. Through the gap in his arms, he saw Merle, Wes, Phillip, and Benson running toward them.

"Where are they?" yelled Phillip. "Return fire, dammit! Get up and shoot!"

"And get our heads blown off?" Wes retorted, but Milton knew that Wes wasn't in danger of being shot at.

He had seen the bullet take out the flesh behind Tim's eyes. It was a deliberate hit; whoever had fired the shot intended to kill Tim and not him because Milton had earned himself amnesty in providing supplies for the prison group and for being Andrea's ally. But it didn't make it any easier to see the look of calm nothingness pass over Tim's face as he crumpled and fell into a splintered mess below. Of the four guards on duty, Tim was the only one who didn't have a positive relationship with Andrea, who meant nothing to her, which meant that Andrea herself might be out there, directing the sniper to take out hostiles and spare Andrea's few Woodbury friends.

All the men crowded onto the wall, keeping low and crawling to move from one spot to another, but it was like being packed in with sardines; any movement meant that they were touching someone else. Merle poked his head above the reinforced stacks of flour and Milton heard another shot go off and saw the bullet enter the flour bag to Merle's left so that a little cloud of the stuff went up into the air with a soft _poof_. If the sniper was accurate enough to shoot Tim through the head, then missing Merle by two complete feet was not an accident; the sniper wasn't trying to hit him.

"There!" shouted Martinez, shining the floodlight on two figures trying to conceal themselves behind the cars in the back wall graveyard. Milton had to squint, but he thought he detected a distinguishable ponytail on one of the two. Just as the floodlight threw the figures into greater relief and Milton got a glimpse of blonde, Benson hefted his sniper rifle into firing position.

Milton shoved Benson's barrel aside and the shot meant for Andrea hit a mark some twenty feet to her right. Benson rounded on Milton, but then Phillip shouted, "They're runnin' for it! Wes, shoot the man!"

Wes tracked Andrea with his scope, but Milton saw him simply watching her through it and not reacting at all even though he must have had a clear shot.

Ahead of Andrea and her companion, the faint silhouettes of another three or four people were dodging into the trees. The other person glanced back over his shoulder and Milton saw that it was T-Dog and though both he and Andrea were sprinting for the cover of trees, they were still in sight of Woodbury's wall and within rifle range of a relatively skilled sniper.

"Fire!" Phillip ordered in Wes's ear.

"No," said Wes.

And then—no one could have predicted this—Wes turned his rifle toward Phillip with the intent to shoot him in the stomach, but Phillip's reaction time was quicker. He capped off a bullet in Wes's head.

Wes's knees hit the floor and all of his limbs went limp as the blood from the bullet hole in his head dripped down his face. Everyone around him stepped back to let his body topple from the wall and land on Tim below, but Tate, who had gone temporarily stiff with shock, gave a garbled, tortured cry of rage and grief and grabbed the front of Phillip's shirt.

Phillip put his revolver to Tate's temple, daring him to try something, and Tate would have, if Merle hadn't taken his sidearm and pistol-whipped Tate across the back of the head so that Tate crumpled in place and shielded his head from further damage as he sprawled on the floor.

"We're not givin' 'em a chance t'make it back to the prison," said Phillip, disregarding Tate who was now sobbing at his feet. "I want all wall reserves ready t'move out in four minutes. Merle, round 'em up." He stepped over Tate and started down the ladder.

Milton's prediction had come true less than five hours after he said it; Tate would never know that his brother had cancer, but that didn't make things better. Merle had just saved Tate by the skin of his teeth, but if both Phillip and Tate were alive at the end of the day, one of them was going to have a go at the other, which meant that either Milton and Merle needed to take care of Phillip out on the battlefield or Tate needed to leave Woodbury and head for the prison—if there was anyone left at the prison after today.

"Tate," said Milton softly, kneeling beside Tate. "I can't ask anything of you right now because it wouldn't be fair of me, but I'm begging you to not do something stupid. You can't take on Phillip alone and you know you won't be able to resist it if he comes back, so you either commit suicide by challenging him or make a break for the prison. Rick, Andrea, and some of the others know who you are. Tell them I sent you. But if you stay here, you still have people who are looking to you for help like Nathan and Nina. Remember that before you decide."

Not sure whether or not Tate had heard him, Milton reached over to pat Tate's shoulder, but felt that it would be an empty gesture, so he let him be and climbed down the ladder as men piled into the vehicles from the convoy.

"Load up now! Milton, you're in charge 'til I get back—"

"I'm coming," said Milton devoutly as he allowed his body to register Wes's death.

Here was a possible chance to take advantage of Phillip's absence to get all of Woodbury on his side so that when and if Phillip returned, the town would _want_ him gone—but Milton couldn't stay because if Phillip was sending out over half of Woodbury's force to pursue Andrea, she didn't stand a chance. All that remained between her and Phillip's wrath was Milton because he didn't trust Merle to do the right thing when the time came. Merle was a wild card and one that could either be Milton's greatest asset or worst enemy because Merle would still abandon everyone to save his brother, and if he suspected that Daryl was in danger, he would leave Andrea to her fate to return to the prison.

Merle harbored something for Andrea, but it couldn't possibly be strong enough to stamp out the loyalty and devotion Merle had for his brother. Not like Milton who was utterly devoted to Andrea's protection because she was so easy to care about. She encouraged it in whatever form it took, and she had been so accepting of Milton's dedication to her when he wasn't even sure what it was. How many people still existed that were like her in that they would abandon all their instincts to help a stranger? Andrea, as flawed as she may be with her taste in male companionship, was pure and Milton had to preserve that because that sort of trait was what brought people hope.

It wasn't a strong leader or a sharpshooter or even someone who knew their way around a laboratory. Selfless, determined people were who brought hope and if the hope that Andrea brought was stamped out by Phillip…Milton couldn't see himself in a future where that was possible. He needed her.

"You're shit with a weapon, Milton," said Phillip condescendingly as he walked toward the waiting vehicles. "And we've moved past any diplomatic solution, so your skills won't be needed. Stay put and let the professionals sort this one out."

"I've been practicing," Milton lied. "And I know how Andrea thinks better than anyone here."

"Anyone?"

Phillip made an obvious nod at Merle who was tucking extra rounds for his assault rifle into his cargo pants.

"I said I know how she thinks, not how she is in bed," said Milton coldly and to his surprise and shame, Phillip gestured at the seat beside him for Milton to get in.

As Milton climbed into the truck and shut the door, Phillip made a _move out_ gesture and the other vehicles followed the truck to the gate which was already wide open to allow them out. Milton glanced at the town in the sideview mirror and a horrible, final sort of feeling settled in his stomach at the thought that this might be the last time he ever passed through that gate as a friend of Woodbury considering what he knew he had to do now.


	33. Chapter 33: Exposed

**MERLE**

Shit was going to go down. When and if the Governor caught up with Andrea and her group, there was nothing Merle would be able to do to prevent mass slaughter. He couldn't very well shoot the Governor now with testosterone-driven soldiers out for blood surrounding him because though he would be getting rid of the biggest problem, he wouldn't live long enough to relish his victory. There was nowhere left for him to turn in his search for answers.

Sensing his distress, Guerrero nudged Merle's foot with his shoe and Merle glanced sideways to see Guerrero run a finger over his throat in a very discrete _finish him_ gesture that looked more like he was itching his neck. He then subtly pointed at the pickup the Governor was driving in front of them, then to Merle, and finally to himself.

Merle raised an eyebrow at him as if to ask, _how_? but just then, the Governor veered the pickup sideways as gunfire struck the passenger side of the vehicle. Since the convoy had been tracking Andrea's party through the woods instead of sticking to the roads, there was little traction for the vehicles to avoid smashing into one another at the sudden change in direction. Martinez had been driving the van Merle and Guerrero were in and swearing to high heaven, he pulled on the emergency brake so that the van spiraled, making deep tracks in the mud as they screeched to a halt.

As pissed as he was that Andrea's people had just nearly accidentally killed him, Merle was pleased at the accuracy of their timing. In fact, he had a sneaking suspicion that this had been their plan all along: to draw the Governor out of Woodbury where it was easier to get a clear shot at him by tempting him out into the woods by having Andrea be the one to launch the attack. Their goal wasn't to take Woodbury, but to take out the more experienced and dangerous soldiers, and though it seemed like a good enough plan to Merle, he hoped that the prison group were more than just accurate shots so that they could pick him out from the other soldiers and know not to fire at him.

Merle pulled open the sliding door and threw himself into the grass as Martinez pulled the van forward to the bumper end of the Governor's truck so that the vehicles formed a barrier between them and the gunfire that was coming from their right. He army-crawled to the end of the van so that he could poke his head out from around it and saw Rick stand up in the bramble of bushes to get a clearer shot at Woodbury's soldiers.

Suddenly, the Governor grabbed Merle's head and shoved him down as more gunfire erupted over them. Merle heard him say in a voice of both awe and amusement, "I don't believe this."

Raising his head off of the ground, Merle saw Glenn running through no-man's-land kamikaze style and he was headed straight for Merle—but not _for_ Merle. With the Governor beside him, Merle was a target to anyone who was waving an automatic in the uncomprehending way Glenn was. Whatever madness that had come over him, it was making him blind to the fact that his ally was also in danger's path, which put Merle at risk of being shot. Glenn's sole purpose seemed to be getting to the Governor and any unlucky bystanders were expendable. But what could have caused him to abandon reason and risk his own precious life just to have a chance at killing the Governor? Glenn, who excelled at slipping away unscathed, who valued one more day on this miserable earth as opposed to dying for no good reason? And he didn't seem to be the type to sacrifice himself just to give his friends a chance at getting a better shot…but he was the type to give himself up for the one person he truly cared about, and as Merle scanned the horizon to pick out the prison shooters, he realized who was missing—who had been in the watchtower.

Glenn loved Maggie enough to die for the chance to avenge her death by having a go at her murderer, and though Merle could appreciate dumb bravery in small doses, Glenn's dumb bravery was about to get both of them killed. As more bullets hit the ground just inches in front of Merle's face, he knew he had to make the difficult decision if _he_ wanted to be alive in another fifteen seconds.

The Governor patted Merle's back to let him know that he would provide cover fire so that Merle could take the shot and with that, there was no backing out now. Merle sat up on one knee to balance his assault rifle on the other and put his eye to the scope. Glenn's face was flushed with the effort of sprinting across the open field and Merle could count all of his teeth as his mouth opened in a furious cry of loss.

How many people had Merle shot down? How easy had it been all those times before to kill nameless individuals who meant less than nothing to him and whose deaths meant he had a better chance at living? People who _needed_ to die, not because they'd ever done anything to him, but because they _might_ do something to him in the future. But Glenn had been there in Atlanta, been a part of that group that left him to mutilate himself. Glenn deserved this punishment for what he had put Merle through, and yet, Merle had never been at such a loss on whether or not to pull the trigger.

Glenn, however, had no such qualms about firing, and let loose on his own trigger. A bullet struck Merle's rifle and then another hit the Governor in the shoulder. Merle let off one clean shot and saw Glenn fall.

And directly lined up with where his body had fallen, Merle saw Andrea gaping in horror at what he had done.

 _Oh, shit_.

He could see her face through the scope and saw—betrayal. She felt betrayal at what she had just witnessed. Merle had killed one of her people, but she didn't know that he had done it to save himself; she thought he had done it on the Governor's orders. Her shock lasted for a full five seconds and then gave way to a fury the likes of which Merle had never expected to see on her face and certainly not directed at him. It wasn't just the look of someone overcome with grief, but something other that Merle only knew existed on a killer's face before they committed murder on behalf of someone they loved.

And the mutual respect, the tenderness, and the—dare he think it—love that existed between himself and Andrea was gone. She would never forgive him and never stop looking for him until one of them was dead for what he had done. In return, Merle felt himself swell with his own rage that she would turn on him when he had single-handedly done more for her than most of her own people.

 _So that's how it's gonna be…_

Andrea aimed straight for him and he threw himself behind the van, calling for Guerrero to cover his position as he ran in a bent over posture to the left side of the convoy wall with the Governor on his tail. They set up behind the jeep and as Merle staked out his spot, he saw one of the soldiers sink to his knees, holding in his intestines which had spilled out as one of the prison group had open his stomach from hip to hip.

The Governor put a bullet in the man's head so that they wouldn't have to deal with him reanimating while their focus was on the prison group. Then, he turned to Merle and gesturing with his revolver, hollered, "You said you were ready, now act like a fuckin' soldier!"

Confused and defiant, Merle was about to suggest a place where the Governor could stick his revolver when he realized that the Governor wasn't talking to him, but the person next to him who had yet to fire a single shot.

Milton still had a hold on his shotgun, but he wasn't in any position to use it. Instead, he had curled himself into a ball behind the truck tires to avoid the opposing gunfire even though Rick and the others knew that Milton was on their side. If none of them sent a few stray bullets Milton's way, the Governor would know that Milton's loyalties were to someone else. He had his hands over his ears, rocking back and forth as his face screwed up in pain at the loudness of the battle.

Guerrero, however, had taken a second rifle from the reserved supplies in the van, stood up, and sent wild shots in the prison group's direction. Merle called them wild because Guerrero was a damn accurate shot and had no reason to be shooting as blindly as he was doing other than to secretly try _not_ to hit the prison group. Andrea's people still believed that they had two people on the inside, but she had probably spread the word to put Merle down and the thought infuriated him.

Merle put the scope to his eye and adjusted into the space between the jeep and Humvee so that he could snipe without being spotted. He moved the scope horizontally, catching the briefest glimpses of Rick's son and Carol just across the way. A few yards to their left was a matt of hair that was unmistakably Daryl's and an immense wave of relief flooded over Merle. He knew his brother hadn't been in that watchtower, but after not seeing him at the prison during yesterday's visit, he had to wonder where Daryl had gotten to and a small part of him was starting to get paranoid that perhaps Daryl _had_ been in the tower. But it definitely had been Maggie, which was why Merle was currently a target to over ninety percent of the people across the field. Further along from Daryl was Elliot, which Merle hadn't anticipated at all after all the blood he knew the man had lost and how he could barely stand on his own feet less than twenty-four hours ago.

He saw Andrea shooting from behind a fallen log that offered her close to no protection. She was aiming far off to the right toward Martinez, unaware of the fact that Merle was no longer there and that she was trying to shoot the wrong person.

"Take her out, Merle," the Governor ordered.

With a peek sideways at the Governor, Merle saw that he was focused on Andrea's hiding space with his binoculars.

"Butchoo said t'leave her alive—"

"And look where that's gotten us; take her _out!"_

There was no bullshitting to be seen on the Governor's face; this wasn't a test of Merle's loyalty, but a hate-fueled order. Raping Andrea no longer had any appeal for him if it meant that he would have to sacrifice most of Woodbury's army and his own life to do it. This woman who had caused so much trouble to the happy and oblivious lives of the people of Woodbury needed to be put down. She was more of a threat to the Governor's position than the biters at this point and if Merle refused to follow this order, he would be joining Wes and Fletcher on the list of people the Governor dealt with when they questioned his authority.

Conflicting feelings passed through Merle, tugging him in opposite directions, but not giving in to the others so that he couldn't actively decide what was the best thing to do for himself and which decision would ensure his survival. Andrea had just tried to kill him and she would continue to for as long as she lived. Merle could put an end to any future worries she might provide by putting a bullet in her head now. He wouldn't need to think about looking over his shoulder for her for the rest of his life if he did as the Governor ordered, but Andrea had only shot at him because she didn't know the full truth. But if Merle didn't do as he was commanded, it was his ass on the line.

He remembered how she had felt their one night together and how he had let every one of his defenses crumble to allow her to touch him as she had. Then he remembered her conscious decision to show affection for him outside of the bedroom in how she had kissed him at the prison. It was the last time he had spoken to her and seen her where he didn't have to pretend to be against her and he saw the worry then on her face that it might very well be the last time she would ever see him alive, so she had lowered her own defenses and kissed him as he had never been kissed by any woman before.

If she could break through all the barriers he had put up and trust him when none of the prison group could, she had to know his heart better than he did. He had to give her that second chance as she had given him.

Merle aimed for Andrea's shoulder, hoping that she wouldn't move. A bullet struck the jeep hood in front of him and Merle fired as he simultaneously lurched backward for cover. Landing painfully on his tailbone, he clambered back to his feet, though keeping himself bent low to avoid being pumped full of bullets from vengeful survivors. He went around to the side of the Humvee and peered through the scope again, searching the field line for Andrea. He couldn't see her, but he did see Axel rushing over to where she had been seconds before.

"Y'get her?" asked the Governor.

"Can't tell," said Merle half-truthfully. He certainly hoped he hadn't, but his aim had been screwed up at the last second by the flying bullet. Through the scope, Axel was shouting to someone else to help him and the other African American in their group—Oscar or something—lifted in his arms—

Andrea. She was alive, face screwed up in pain at the blind shot that had gone through her shoulder.

"Well?" the Governor prompted, but before Merle answered, he looked over at Milton who was watching Merle intensely for the same news, but hoping for the opposite.

"Hard t'make out," he lied. "I might've, but the bushes're too thick t-tell—"

"Biters!" screamed one of the remaining soldiers and Merle took his attention off of the field to focus on the woods around them that had come alive with biters that couldn't resist the feast of humans too busy battling each other to realize how much noise they were making. They were spread out, but still far too numerous to hold off.

"Fall back!" shouted the Governor. "Get back in the vehicles!"

At the same time that the soldiers began heading for car doors, Merle saw an Expedition come shooting out onto the field, driven by what looked like Hershel, but that didn't seem possible. The large vehicle cut in front of the van so that the convoy couldn't go anywhere and the passenger-side window rolled down to reveal Erica who shot another soldier point-blank in the face before Hershel put the pedal to the floor and gunned it. Guerrero let out a cry of relief at the sight of his girlfriend and as if sensing that he was about to lose control over his best and most dangerous assassin, the Governor ordered the soldiers to open fire on him.

"No!" cried Milton, shoving at Benson who was closest and causing him to completely miss his shot that would have split Guerrero's nose up the middle. Guerrero flung himself into the ditch beside the convoy, but by the time the soldiers reached it, he had disappeared. Swearing, the Governor kicked a rock into the ditch, giving orders to find Guerrero and kill him. If there was one person more deadly than a vengeful Andrea, it was Guerrero on the loose and no man was safe as long as he was alive. But they wouldn't find him because Guerrero only let himself be seen when he felt like it.

Merle had to crack a smile, but that quickly faded as he realized that Milton had just given himself away in trying to protect Guerrero. Milton was lifting his arms, shaking far too much to be an accurate shot as he aimed at the back of the Governor's head, but Merle blocked him off and pointed to the woods.

 _Run_ , he mouthed.

Milton's pupils were dilated in fear, his tear ducts brimming because he thought Merle had killed Andrea and if he didn't at least give the last of his strength to finish what he had started, she had died for nothing.

 _She's alive, now run_ , Merle insisted.

Snatching up his rifle from his hiding spot behind the truck tire, Milton ran for it—quite literally ran as fast as any person with normal lung capacity could. Merle had never seen him move so quickly in his life, but one moment Milton's form was growing smaller as he made a break for the thicker cover of trees and the next, he was gone.

Now with no allies left to protect him nor indeed any allies left who needed protection, Merle was feeling quite exposed. One by one, he, Milton, and Guerrero had just unintentionally revealed their true colors so that there was no more time to get close enough to the Governor to do what he had always intended. With the biters closing in on all sides so that both the prison group and the soldiers were occupied, Merle put the convoy between himself and the Governor and then broke into the hardest sprint he could manage.

He heard a distinct gunshot that meant a bullet had just missed him, so he made a sharp turn and cut left without slowing down so that it would be harder to lock onto him. As he ran, he thought he saw someone else doing the exact same thing, which was putting as much space between himself and the clearing as possible, but Merle didn't stop to find out if his company was friendly. He made for a hill that stood out clearly in his path so that he could gain a vantage point and gather his bearings.

An enormous stitch was growing in his side as he began to scale the hill, climbing up the last few feet on his hand and knees, but when he reached the top, he saw a fleeting flash of sunlight reflecting off of a rifle scope before the gun report rang out and an excruciating pain seared across the side of his face. Doubling over to clutch at the bleeding skin, he lost his balance and made an unceremonious journey back down the length of what now felt like a mountain instead of a hill, hitting every lump of uneven ground, log, and rock on the way down. When he finally came to a stop at the bottom, he lay still, choking in relief that he could breathe and wondering for all of two seconds if he had broken something vital before the pain from his face hit him like an anvil. The bullet path had riveted through the muscle in his cheek and opened up what Merle felt was a hole so that an unwanted breeze rippled through it into his mouth. With a shaky hand, he traced the line of damage from the outer left side corner of his mouth to the tip of his left ear.

"Goddamn son've a fuckin' cocksuckin' motherfuckin' _bitch_!" Merle roared out.

Collapsing on his side as he tried to right himself, Merle was blinded by the pain festering in every fiber of his face and head. He saw someone standing over him, but couldn't make out any features that would help him distinguish this person as a friend, foe, or biter. He strained to keep his eyes open and tried to lift his sidearm, but someone had already fired and he heard the body crumple beside him before a voice from far off behind him called out.

"Get moving, or it'll be something that can shoot back that finds you next time, dude!"

Merle staggered to his feet and ripped off a section of his overshirt, which he then pressed against the bleeding wound. He secured his rifle strap across his chest and allowed himself twenty seconds to calm his breathing. Then, with his face on fire and his senses not quite working at full function, he made for the direction of the prison—or what he hoped was the direction of the prison.


	34. Chapter 34: The Weight of Men

**/Warning: The following chapter contains scenes of rape and/or attempted rape. Read with caution./**

 **MILTON**

 _She's alive. He said she's still alive._

But what did _still alive_ mean in this instance? Was she just barely clinging to life, or had Merle shot at her somewhere that would ensure that she wouldn't die from her wound? Milton couldn't see Andrea across the field, so he had to trust Merle and after Merle had just saved his life by buying him some time to make a run for it, who was Milton to doubt him? But _had_ Merle saved his life? Milton was now on his own in the woods and unless he found the road, he would be in serious trouble come nightfall.

He knew that going back to Woodbury right now was probably his best bet since there was a possibility that Phillip would be out in the forest all day searching for the prison group, leaving Woodbury open for Milton's return. But he also considered the possibility of finding the prison and waiting for whoever was with Andrea to return to give her medical treatment—but then Milton forgot that Hershel wasn't at the prison.

Tugging at his hair, Milton set his back to a tree trunk to try and think. Where was he supposed to go now? Where was _safe_? Then it occurred to him that he shouldn't be looking for a safe haven, but being proactive. He needed to go wherever he thought Phillip was more likely to go and then wait for him there to finish it.

Merle had stopped him from doing it because in reality, that wasn't a shot Milton could have made with his abysmal shooting record. Did that mean that Merle intended to kill Phillip himself? Somehow, that didn't seem likely with all the opportunities Merle had had to do it before and for whatever reason—hadn't.

Just then he heard a woman swearing and yelling for the entire forest to hear and though his heart leapt into his throat that he might have found Andrea, he listened closer to the tone and realized that it wasn't Andrea, but Erica. And following the sounds of her voice came those of Elliot calling after her as well as Kendall mocking Elliot's cries for her.

Milton was about to shout out for his friends to pinpoint their location and head toward their voices when a scream tore through the air that Milton could only compare to a man being tortured. He was still heaving from the exertion he had put into running from the field, but when someone managed to make a sound like the one that was coming out of Elliot's throat, there wasn't time for him to gather his wits or his breath. He pressed on, dodging low-hanging branches and being mindful of the amount of pressure he was putting into his footsteps so that he wouldn't cause as much noise (proving that he _had_ learned a thing or two from his time scouting with Merle). His legs couldn't carry him fast enough to reach Elliot before he heard another scream and though he didn't think he had any energy left, he found himself going even faster.

What in God's name could Kendall be doing to Elliot to make the latter scream in such a way? The answer was waiting for Milton in a clear patch of gravel on the side of a road where Kendall had parked the Jeep. He had looped a set of chains around Elliot's neck from behind and started to tug and Elliot, now seemingly half-conscious, was beginning to turn the color of radishes as his one arm pounded on the ground in front of him. But it wasn't the attempt at asphyxiation that disturbed Milton; it was the fact that as Elliot lay face-down, Milton could see that his pants and underwear had been stripped off and he had blood coating his backside.

 _Oh, god, he's been raped._

Kendall gave the chains some slack and Elliot gasped for air as his head dropped into the grass. Granting him almost no time for respite, Kendall pressed his foot down on the stump of what used to be Elliot's arm and Elliot screamed, twisting to throw the bigger man off, but with only one hand, he was helpless. Kendall stomped harder and Elliot's body arched upward in pain while Kendall laughed.

"Scream louder for me and we'll go for round two. A little blood don't bother me."

Milton would never be able to say anything that would make Kendall back off and as soon as Milton tried to defend Elliot, Kendall would put a bullet in his back before finishing Elliot off himself. It would not be the first life Milton had to take, but it would be the first of someone he knew and at one point long ago, respected. He wanted to step in closer to ensure that he didn't miss, but he couldn't afford to let Kendall hear him approaching.

One quick pull of the trigger and Kendall fell right over on top of Elliot who let out a sharp gasp as Kendall's full weight pinned him to the ground. Milton shouldered the rifle and jogged over to push Kendall's body off of his friend. Choking and weeping through pain, Elliot blinked up into Milton's face in utter disbelief.

" _Milton?_ "

Immediately, Elliot tried to pull up his underwear, but being lightheaded, weak, and one-handed, all he could do was fumble at the fabric. Milton didn't know what to do or how to help him. If he was in Elliot's position, physical touch was the last thing he would be wanting, and yet, he would probably be craving it, longing for someone he loved and trusted to put their arms around him and shield him for a few moments against the world that had done this to him. But what the hell could he say or do for Elliot right now? Milton couldn't give a proper hug if his life depended on it, but right now it seemed that Elliot's sanity might depend on it.

Before he could come up with a decision, he heard the biters closing in, drawn in by Elliot's screams, Kendall's raucous laughter, and Milton's gunshot. Milton snatched up Kendall's shotgun, spread his stance wide, and tucked the butt end of the weapon into the crook of his shoulder just as Merle had showed him, and even though Merle's instructions had been condescending, they were still accurate. He fired and his shot blasted one biter completely off its feet before the bullet fractured out and the shrapnel struck another biter in the head. Amazed at his luck, Milton stepped in front of Elliot.

"Get the keys!" he shouted, kicking at Kendall's body beside him.

He heard sounds of movement from behind, but didn't take his focus off of the biters to see what Elliot was doing. He fired off another four shots and then his weapon jammed just like a proper weapon in the heat of battle should. Two precious seconds were spent fiddling with it to clear out the barrel before he thought, _to hell with it_ , and taking it in both hands, used it like a bat. He swung it into the nearest biter's face and knocked out all but one of its teeth so that it fell back under the impact, but he hadn't killed it.

Something brushed against him from behind and as he turned his head, he saw Kendall standing up. He opened his mouth to cry out in horror and confusion because there was no conceivable way that Kendall could have lived through that shot to the head, but then Kendall fell forward onto the biter at Milton's feet and Milton saw that it was Elliot who had lifted the larger man upright with strength that came from reserves unknown. Elliot had thrown Kendall's body at the oncoming biters to buy Milton some time.

Holding up a ring of keys, Elliot shouted, "Move!"

Milton seized the keys from Elliot's hand and then dragged him along by the front of his shirt to the Jeep, but once there, Elliot was absolutely reluctant to get in.

"Elliot, now is not the time for stalling, get in!"

"I can't," said Elliot, glancing at the back seat like it had done him a personal wrong, and then, putting two and two together, Milton realized that what Kendall had done to him _had_ occured in the back seat.

"Elliot, we don't have time for this. Get in the goddamn Jeep or—"

Elliot pulled out his pistol and pointed it at Milton. With the sound the biters were making just a few meters away, Milton couldn't hear him, but he read Elliot's lips that mouthed, " _Duck_ ", and he threw himself across the steering wheel, setting the horn off as he felt the afterdraft of a bullet pass over him and heard a body crumple on the other side of the door.

The horn had attracted the biters that couldn't get in close to Kendall's body and Milton was about to drop some Merle-worthy swearwords on Elliot, but the latter had climbed in beside Milton and rolled up his window. Milton jammed the keys into the ignition, put the vehicle in reverse, and pressed down on the pedal so that he completely flattened two biters under the tires. Recklessly turning the wheel in whichever direction he could, he maneuvered his way through the biters until he felt and heard tire traction on the asphalt and then started off west.

Milton dabbed some of the flecks of biter blood off of his glasses as he adjusted the rear view mirror. In the seat next to him, Elliot had pressed himself against his door with one hand on the door handle, ready to fling it open and leap out at a moment's notice as if afraid that Milton would attack him. He was silent, bending over his knees and digging the side of his pistol into his forehead like a priest might hold a holy object during prayer.

"I'm sorry," said Milton in a hollow voice. "I should have gotten there faster—"

"Don't," said Elliot sharply. "Please, just—don't."

"No, it's my fault for losing track of him," Milton insisted. "I ran from the battlefield when I should have dealt with him. I should have killed them all, but I was too concerned with my own safety. I had no idea that he was capable of—I didn't know that he would—"

"Milton, shut the fuck up. I don't want to talk about it—ever. Just turn the car around and take me to Woodbury."

"You expect me to act like that didn't just happen back there? I just killed a man—a soldier of Woodbury—because of what he was doing to you. And you're bleeding all over the place."

Elliot's pistol was moving dangerously close to proper firing position, but Milton had to make him see reason because he truly was bleeding all over the seat cushion and bruising up around his neck, so heading back to Woodbury at the moment was the worst possible thing he could do.

"You need medical attention, and not just for what he did to you. Your arm isn't even fully healed and your throat is already discoloring. It's unwise and frankly impossible for you to continue on like this."

"Then stop the car and let me out. I'll go back to Woodbury myself."

"No, I'm not taking you back to Woodbury. Hershel is just as capable of dealing with your injuries as Doctor Stephens is."

"They have Erica," said Elliot.

"And you think that you're the best candidate to go rescue her?" asked Milton sardonically. "You could barely stand up ten minutes ago. _I'm_ going back to Woodbury because I'm qualified and I'm responsible for those people, including Erica. This isn't your burden to take, so I'm finding you another car and you're going to go back to the prison and wait there until I arrive with Erica."

"You," said Elliot, and then he laughed in a pained, throaty voice that sounded garbled as he tried to get the sound out through his swollen throat. "Milton, you're the least qualified person for this job. All that time you wasted on me allowed the Governor and most of the soldiers to get back to Woodbury, which means it's properly guarded again and Erica's deep inside the lab right about now, waiting for all of those men to do to her what just happened to me and when you tucked tail and ran from the Governor, he realized that you no longer belong to Woodbury. So if you try to get back in, you'll get the same treatment Erica's getting for being a traitor because you're naïve and you're stupid. Your ignorance is what got me here in the first place because I had to protect your sorry ass or the Governor was going to have me killed and that's why Merle shot me, why I lost mobility in my arm, why I got it chopped off, why I ended up at the prison, and why Kendall was able to overpower me and fuck me raw so _stop the fucking car_!"

Milton slammed on the brakes and Elliot threw out his hand so that he wouldn't go flying into the windshield, but the seatbelt he'd somehow managed to put on without Milton noticing was what saved him.

Now it was Milton's turn to bring fighting words into the argument because Elliot was not thinking rationally, blinded by his need to prove himself as a warrior and as a man after being violated.

"If the Governor does have Erica, you're not going to get within a hundred yards of Woodbury without being spotted and shot down because he knows someone is going to be coming for her and _you're_ the least qualified person to do _that_ on account of the one arm you have and the fact that your anal cavity is spewing blood into your seat right now. Your people took out at least four soldiers, not including Kendall, so the Governor will be looking for anyone with artillery experience to guard Woodbury, which means he'll probably bring Crowley out and we both know that he and Kendall think alike so tell me, Elliot; are you looking to offer up your ass twice in one day?"

Milton could have clapped his hands to his mouth, abhorred and shocked at what had just come out of it. That was something Merle would say, not something Elliot needed to hear right now, and certainly not something that should have been said at all. Only the heat of the moment and Milton's anger at how everything had gone horribly wrong could have caused him to lose his temper with Elliot and deliver such a cruel response. And after everything Elliot had been through in losing full mobility with his arm, then getting it chopped off, then being raped and nearly strangled, he didn't deserve that kind of attitude from Milton, no matter how dire or frustrating the circumstances.

To his credit, Elliot kept his composure, but a stormy look clouded his face as his hollowed and skeletal-looking eye sockets seemed to darken with beady eyes that advised Milton not to say anything else. "You've always had good intentions, Milton, but in this situation in which you're so blissfully ignorant, I'm warning you to _back your shit down_."

"I can't let you go back there," Milton tried to explain. "I rescued you and it's now my responsibility to protect you. Letting you walk right up to Woodbury's gate would be doing the same thing as if I'd let Kendall continue doing what he did to you."

"If you don't let me go, saving me wouldn't have been worth the time."

It was the same argument as when Hobbs had had hostages and Guerrero wanted to sneak into the marauders' camp; Guerrero wasn't eligible to perform the act because he was emotionally compromised. Elliot couldn't be allowed to go back for Erica for the exact same reasons.

"Give me a logical explanation for why I should let you go back there," Milton proposed.

"You would do the same for Andrea," said Elliot, catching Milton off guard. "You don't know how and she doesn't know how, but you know you love her in some way you can't explain and that you need her. You'd do absolutely everything within your power for her, even if that meant euthanasia. That's what I would do for Erica. I know she and Guerrero are together and I know he'd go to the ends of the earth for her, but there's pride in him that won't let him do the things that I would do for her, and that's why I have to be the one to go back for her. Because I'm the weak one; the one they won't expect. They'll think Guerrero's coming, but it'll be me instead. And you would do exactly what I'm doing if you were in my shoes even though they'd expect Merle to come for her. They don't anticipate that the weaklings are the ones who are willing to sacrifice the most because we don't have the luxury of pride."

Milton found Elliot a suitable vehicle for driving back to Woodbury on his own and Elliot surprised him in managing to hotwire the thing one-handed. Giving Elliot Kendall's weapons, Milton sent him on his way, wondering now if he should use Elliot as a distraction to slip inside Woodbury or start back for the prison in the hopes of finding Andrea. He sat contemplating his next move for a few minutes with the windows of the Jeep rolled up before he saw Merle striding toward him straight down the middle of the road without a care in the world. In addition to this, his face was horribly asymmetrical from the path a bullet had carved out of the side of his it, and he had let it bleed freely after some unsuccessful attempts to stop the blood from flowing.

In a rather unexpected act of fury from himself, Milton jumped out of the car and waited for Merle to close the distance between the two of them before grabbing his overshirt and shoving him into the side of the Jeep.

"What the _hell_ is the matter with you? You shot her!"

"Yeah, an' she's gonna be fine; I only hit 'er shoulder," said Merle, slapping Milton's hands away from him. "I know what I'm about, son; I know what I's doin'. Y'didn't think I'd actually go'n kill 'er, do ya?"

As a matter of fact, that was exactly what Milton had thought, but somehow, admitting that to Merle didn't seem like the best thing to do just now. Merle checked the Jeep for anyone else before asking, "Y'on your own?"

"I was with Elliot, but he went after Erica. Some of the other soldiers took her."

"Was that him in that perty Slug Bug that passed by a few minutes ago? Hope that dumbass didn't make it that far, 'cause Erica's kidnappers didn't either. Their pickup's just up the road there a mile or so in a ditch. Rolled over completely, engine still steamin'. Couple've biters feedin' on the guys who were drivin' it: looked like Fitz and Beecher, but I couldn't tell. Erica wasn't there, so I'm thinkin' she caused 'em t'crash, but jumped free before it happened, an' now she's off wanderin' the woods somewhere."

"Then you go look for her and if you find Elliot, get them both back to the prison—or wherever you think is safe," said Milton as he climbed back into the Jeep, but Merle snatched the keys out of the ignition and looped the key ring around his forefinger.

"And where d'you think you're goin'? Y'done gave yourself away, dumbass. He knows now, so there ain't no goin' back t'Woodbury."

"There are still people there who need me," said Milton with false bravado. "Tate, for one, unless he left like I told him. And it's my fault that this went as far as it did because I never stood up to him when it meant anything. I have an obligation to those people, and I have to do this for myself."

"Y'wanna prove t'yourself thatchoo grew a pair've balls, y'done it already. Anythin' past this's just bein' ignorant."

"I wouldn't expect you to understand; you don't have the capacity to care about more than one other person besides yourself."

"That's hittin' a bit below the belt, ain't it? Woodbury's finished, man, an' anyone who thinks there's somethin' t'salvage there's just bein' a tool."

Glancing at his wristwatch, Milton knew he was running out of time.

"How much do you weigh, Merle?"

"The hell's it matter how much I weigh?"

"How—much?"

"'Bout 210, why?"

"Because you're two hundred and ten pounds of worthless, cowardly shit, now give me back the keys."

Milton could see that Merle expected an "or else" proposition, but Milton had none to give. If he tried to draw on Merle, the latter was faster; if he tried to grab the keys, Merle would pitch them off the side of the road. All Milton had going for him was his very last ounce of restraint before he hurtled himself at Merle like he had done when Merle confronted him in front of Daryl, which Milton was hoping it wouldn't come to because he didn't think his poor, abused ribs could handle another beating from Merle.

Merle appeared to be battling his own demons as he started to hold out the keys to Milton.

"It's gonna getchoo killed, y'know that, right?"

"I've considered that," said Milton carefully.

Merle withdrew the keys. "Naw, it _will_ getchoo killed. Y'take these keys, y'ain't comin' back. You're dead, boy. I don't want your blood on my hands."

"It won't be. This is my decision. You're not responsible for me, so let me go."

"An' what'm I s'posed t'tell Andrea?"

"Tell her whatever you want; just don't degrade me when you do. Keys, please."

Merle handed the keys over, thumped the car door in a farewell gesture, and stepped back so that Milton could drive on, but as Milton watched him grow smaller in the rear view mirror as a lone figure in the middle of the road, he had to wonder to what lengths Merle would go now for Andrea because if Milton didn't survive this encounter, she might not either. It said a lot about the two of them in how they went about protecting Andrea; Merle was willing to nearly kill her to save her, but Milton was the one who would die for her—who was about to probably die for her and everyone in Woodbury.

But Milton felt calm. He knew what this selfless act would entail and he was prepared to accept it because he had to do one good thing, one _right_ thing before he died, and if nothing else, this would be it. He couldn't leave this horrible world without trying to right his wrongs and there were so many of the latter group.


	35. Chapter 35: Preserve the Purity

**ANDREA**

She suspected from the moment that the pain hit her shoulder that she had been shot by one of two people, and as little as she knew about Guerrero, she knew that he felt no great sense of loyalty to Phillip, which ruled him out, leaving only one other possible culprit. But even narrowing down her choices didn't make sense to her, because why would Merle have shot at her? Why would he have done something so deliberate, knowing that it would cause her pain, make her slower, and potentially get her killed if he was off by even a fraction of an inch? Had Phillip held Merle at gunpoint and ordered him to kill her? There were too many factors to make a decision for sure, but something told her that Merle had done what he did of his own free will and that, added to the fact that he had killed Glenn, made Andrea sick to her stomach with her affections for Merle.

And it was this thought that fueled her growing anger as the walkers closed in on their battlefield and made them retreat. In the confusion, she had lost her designated partner, T-Dog, and instead ended up with Daryl. It was difficult navigating the woods in search of the others when they had to split up from the field with Andrea relying on Daryl to help her walk. He could not properly fire his crossbow and she knew she was holding him back to the point where, if they got into trouble in an ambush, he would either have to sacrifice himself to defend her or cut and run.

She couldn't allow him to do the former, so she made him stop as they came within sight of an enormous hill with the sounds of the battle still raging on behind them.

"Leave me here," she told him heavily. "Go help the others; do whatever you have to, and I'll wait here."

"That's dumb, c'mon, we'll keep goin'—" Daryl insisted, but Andrea wouldn't let him take her any further.

"You can't defend both of us if we get into a tight spot and you're useless to them right now by helping me. I can still shoot and if trouble comes my way, I can climb a tree. Trust me; I'll be okay."

"This don't sit right with me."

"Because you've gotten used to fending for other people and not just yourself," said Andrea with a small smile that she was pretty sure came across as a grimace. "Just help me tie off this bullet hole and get going. I survived nine months out here; I'll be okay."

Daryl ripped off a section of his shirt to bind around the flesh wound in her shoulder and gave her the rifle he was carrying in addition to his crossbow. Something on her face must have set off a warning to him, for he closed his hand around the rifle barrel seemingly with the intention of taking it back.

"I know whatchoo're thinkin' an' I'm tellin' ya, don't do it."

"Do what?" asked Andrea innocently.

"I don't wanna go puttin' the blame on no one's shoulders, but this's happenin' 'cause the Governor wanted you. You're alive 'cause Merle stuck his neck out when he didn't have no business doin' that. That ain't like my brother t'save nobody's ass but his own, but he did one selfless thing an' it came back'n bit 'im in the ass. Whatever he's done, he had a damn good reason t'do it, so if y'see 'im, remember that."

"Your brother's the one part of this equation I can't figure out, Daryl. Glenn was a brother to both of us and Merle killed him, so how do you justify that?"

"He ain't a good man, but he ain't the Governor neither. Point is, no matter how shitty things get, he _tries_ t'do the right thing, even if it don't work out. If he was the one who shotchoo, the alternative wasn't lookin' too bright for you."

Andrea had no answer for Daryl's proclamation, so she sent him on his way. He didn't go quickly, stalling for more time to check her over again for additional wounds, and when he finally did get going, he kept glancing back at her as if he expected her to drop dead as soon as he looked over his shoulder.

Daryl's devotion to Merle seemed so blind that Andrea gave it little thought, but she did linger over it long enough that she presently heard something or someone lumbering up the opposite side of the hill. Preparing her rifle, she rested it precariously on her injured shoulder and waited for a head or some distinguishable feature to clear the hilltop.

Merle's face came into view and as the pain in her shoulder burned with a flaming intensity and she thought of Maggie and Glenn, she allowed herself to pull the trigger, intentionally aiming for the side of his face to give him as much of a chance as he had given her. He swore at the top of his lungs as the bullet cut through his cheek, and then he toppled out of view. She went after him, going the long way around the hill instead of trying to scale it, but by the time she reached the other side, he had gone, leaving a prominent trail of blood in his wake.

Too late, she realized that she had used the last bullet from her rifle, but decided to keep it to use as a bludgeoning weapon as well as a walking stick. Keeping one hand on the rifle and the other on her pistol with half a clip full of ammunition, she staggered after Merle's blood trail, watching for the signs he had taught her to look for in a cruel form of irony. She didn't know what she planned to do once she caught up with him— _if_ she caught up with him—but seeking revenge for the needless slaughter of Glenn seemed to be a good place to start.

She accredited her luck in catching up to Merle to a mixture of her determination and the fact that Merle was stupidly standing in the middle of the road beside a car he'd obviously hotwired almost as if he was waiting for her—but when he turned to see her with her weapon trained on him, the surprise on his face told her otherwise. The satisfaction she had hoped to feel at the sight of the cut stretching from his left ear to his mouth didn't come as she saw the lines in his brow pull together in pain. The wound was obviously causing him great distress, but she thought that if he knew that it was she who had shot him, there would be an entirely different expression to be seen.

She dropped the rifle at her feet and held her Beretta on him, her aim unsteady with the effort of keeping her arm raised despite the burning pain in her shoulder.

"I know you're the one who shot me," she told him flatly. "Everyone else had automatics except for Martinez and the bullet went in from a left angle; he was on the right."

Merle said nothing.

"Am I right?"

"Yeah."

"Then you go to hell—"

"Andrea, wait—"

"No, not after this. How dare you stand there and ask me to listen to you after what you did? You didn't have to kill Glenn; you had the chance to turn right around and shoot Phillip instead, but you chose to save your own ass—again. I thought for one stupid moment that what I'd just seen you do was a mistake, but it wasn't and you don't even have the decency to deny it. You had so many opportunities to end this, but you never did."

"Milton didn't neither."

"He never got the chance because you always stalled him or came up with some half-assed reason why you had to wait for a more opportune moment. I should have told T-Dog to put two bullets in your head and one in your stomach when we attacked the wall this morning, but I didn't because I thought you were with us. Somehow, cutting Glenn down doesn't seem to me like we're on the same team. You chose Phillip and yourself over us."

"I didn't choose 'im," said Merle. "I chose t'try'n save your people, people who weren't mine. I had t'cover my tracks for s'long as I could an' that wasn't easy. Even with bullets flyin' everywhere, I was still fightin' for your people every chance I got."

"Maggie was in that watchtower," said Andrea, hating herself for the catch in her throat. "And Oscar took a hit during the shoot-out while carrying me; he probably won't make it. And Glenn-"

"That dumb bastard was gonna git me killed," Merle pointed out. "Wavin' his gun around like a lunatic all 'cause his girlfriend was in that tower. He almost shot me."

"He should have," said Andrea savagely.

Merle took a step forward, but Andrea used her good arm to support her dominant one so that she could aim at Merle's head.

"Not a step further, or I swear to God, I'll cut you down just as effortlessly. I'll save my own ass over yours just like you chose to do instead of protecting your own brother."

"Wasn't him I's worried about. Governor can't get 'is hands on Daryl anymore, but you—"

"Don't do that. Don't all of a sudden pretend that I was anything more than another whore to you."

"If you'd just lemme fuckin' say what I need to, goddammit, woman!" Merle threw his pistol down and let his rifle fall beside it. "I wanted t'be with m'brother, but he put 'imself in danger by comin' back t'Woodbury with me, an' you're the one who told me t'let 'im go back t'the prison an' that's how the Governor found out where y'all were. I wanted t'go with you from the get-go, but if I did, the Governor wouldda figured out where I'd gone real quick an' we'd all be dead. I wanted you, Andrea, but I had t'give you up if y'even stood a chance. I had the son've a bitch breathin' down m'neck durin' the shootout, so I had t'make a shot, but I was aimin' for your shoulder, an' that's where I shotcha. I had t'make 'im think I'd done my best t'kill ya, otherwise he'dda kept goin'. He stopped lookin' for you after he thought I'd putchoo down an' went after me, Miltie, an' Guerrero instead once it all went down."

"Where's Milton?" asked Andrea suddenly.

"Where's m'brother?" Merle countered

"I asked you first."

"What's Milton t'you?" asked Merle, and Andrea thought she detected a hint of—was it hurt, or jealousy in his voice?

"I'm the one with the gun. Where—is—Milton?"

"He went back t'kill the Governor—or try to—"

"And you didn't stop him?"

"He wanted t'go, so I let 'im. He got it in his head that this was somethin' he needed t'do, an' I couldn't change his mind."

Andrea pulled at the skin under her eyes, praying that this was just a bad dream and that Merle hadn't actually let Milton head straight back to Woodbury. "Killing the Governor was supposed to be _your_ job. You know Milton can't do it; he's not that kind of person."

Merle looked like he had an enormous toothache as he spat out his next words. "He said he had t'try so the Governor wouldn't come after you an' that's real romantic an' all, but it wasn't a good enough reason for _me_ t'go back."

"Then I guess we know who I should have invested more time in. Move."

"Y'ain't seriously goin' after 'im? Y'do, an' you're as good's handin' y'self over to the Governor so he can do what he wants with ya."

"I can take whatever he might do to me, but Milton can't. Milton's—" What was the word she was looking for, pure? Innocent? Naïve? Oblivious?

"Clueless, that's what he is," Merle finished. "He started t'unnerstand when I laid the truth out for 'im after Michonne nearly cut his throat open, but he's still stupid when it comes t'people. He don't get how people work when they're pushed to the edge, an' he never will."

"You're right; he won't if I don't give him the chance. It's equal parts your fault and mine that he's going back there and since you're going to tuck your tail between your legs and run just like the Governor trained you to, it's my responsibility to go after him. Milton only ever had my best interests at heart, not his own personal agenda. Of everyone I've met in this fucked up world, he deserves to keep trying more than any of them, and I owe him that chance. You can get out of my way, or I'll make you."

Merle remained defiantly in front of the car. "Andrea, I did all've this, went through all this bullshit so that y'wouldn't have t'go back there."

Andrea bit back a cry of pain and strode right up to Merle, digging the pistol nozzle into his forehead. "You know that whatever happens to Milton is on us, and while that may not have any impact on you, it's not something I can live with. I chose to be Milton's friend, and I'm all he has. You have your brother; go find him, and then both of you keep walking."

It looked like it caused Merle actual physical pain to say so, but he asked, "Is Milton worth _your_ life, Andrea?"

Andrea pushed Merle aside, and he let her, because she didn't have the strength to move him on her own. She sat down in the car and put her foot on the brake as she grasped the stick in her free hand and put it in drive.

"He's all that's worth it now."

Merle closed his hand around the steering wheel before she could drive off, squatting down on her level as he leaned forward into the car.

"Tell me somethin', Andrea, d'you hate me like y'did in Atlanta when y'thought I's gonna kill a man right in front've ya? I remember the look on your face. I remember that look more'n anythin' else about that day, 'cause that longin' I felt for you then never went away. I always wanted you, but I never figured it'd happen 'cause I could see that y'wanted me dead. Y'wanted Rick t'grab the gun outta my hand an' put a bullet in my head execution style. I remember hearin' the thunder clouds rollin' in when I looked up an' saw you wishin' that God'd come down an' smite me right there. I knew that look well; that was hate, an' that's the look everybody I know's given me at one time or another. That's the look I saw on that battlefield when I killed your boy Glenn. But I thought we'd moved past that after y'took me into your bed and had me make love t'you. So tell me; y'hate me same as y'ever did?"

"I don't have anything left to feel for you," said Andrea, glad that there was no catch in her throat as she said so.

Defeated and broken, Merle backed away and Andrea switched her foot to the gas, shooting off down the road in the hope that she could catch up to Milton before he made it inside the walls where she might never be able to reach him again.


	36. Chapter 36: A Price to Pay

**/Warning: The following chapter depicts rape and/or attempted rape. Read with caution./**

 **MERLE**

"Bright" was not a word Merle would normally associate with any of his plans, but this was the only plan he had and he had no other options open to him within his very tight time frame. It was the largest vehicle he figured he would come across, but also small enough that it wouldn't do enough damage to the point that it would go completely through the building he planned to crash it into.

The decision came to him about five minutes after he'd let Andrea leave just like he'd let Milton leave. He was sick of watching people go to their imminent doom while he stayed behind to fend for himself. It finally clicked with him that Andrea and Milton were the two best things to happen to him since the world went to hell because Andrea had managed to salvage the parts of him worth saving and Milton made him consider the many ways in which he was still needed and useful to less-capable people. If his purpose was to be the helping hand, so be it, and if Andrea and Milton could see him as nothing but a cowardly asshole…well, there were worse things in life. This was something, the one thing, he knew he had to do. It wouldn't redeem him for every other horrible thing in life he'd ever done, but if he let this one pass by, he wouldn't be able to live it down.

He had to take a very rough side-road so that he could approach Woodbury from the back and then, when he was within sight of the town, he put a bag full of weights he had found on the gas pedal and kept the wheel on course as the semi sped headlong toward the town. When he was only a few yards out, Merle took his weapons in his hand, kicked open the driver-side door and threw himself out, landing amidst the shoulder-height weeds.

Keeping low, he watched the semi smash into the brick wall and made a considerable and sizeable dent in the apartment building where Wes and Tate used to reside (and if Tate was still in Woodbury, he wasn't going to remain there for much longer). The rear wall guard sounded the alarm, firing at the semi and Merle ran bent-double to a weak spot in one of the fences. Struggling to get a good handhold, he clawed his way over the top of the fence and nearly wiped out face-first on the concrete ground on the other side, but managed to catch himself on his elbow at the last second.

He pressed himself against the thick ivy-strewn wall and waited until the sounds of running footsteps faded before he darted across the alleyway to the lab door. His assault rifle was at waist height as he pushed open the door and proceeded down the dark hall that would take him to one of two side rooms that the Governor used for some of his questionable experiments on biter bodies when Milton wasn't willing to explore that far into the reaches of humanity.

Hoping that the ruckus outside would keep the remaining guards occupied long enough for him to search the lab in its entity for any of Merle's acquaintances, he chose a passage and at the end of the hall, cracked open the door on the right just a smidgen so he could see inside. Someone had been strapped down to the operating table in the center of the room and as Merle pushed the door open further and darted into the room to check behind the door for anyone who might have been hiding there, the person on the table gave a strangled sob.

Of all the horrendous things the Governor could have done, Merle wasn't expecting this. Milton was bound flat to the table with zipties to replace the straps that had broken long ago. His upper body had been stripped bare so that Merle could see the three shallow lacerations across his chest. His wrists were already chafed from where he had been fighting against his bonds in the short time it had been since Merle had last seen him and blood was pouring freely from his nose while a small trickle of it dripped steadily out of the corner of his mouth. On the floor beside him were his glasses, broken at the bridge as if they had been snapped in two. In the chill of the early autumn evening, he had managed to build up a sweat as his bangs stuck to his forehead.

Merle didn't know to what extent Milton was able to see him or even recognize him without the assistance of glasses, but as Merle moved in, Milton tried to violently overturn the table.

"He's hurting her," he said desperately. "In the next room—go!"

Merle hesitated, trying to think of how long it would take him to free Milton and if Andrea had that much time left. Milton, however, made Merle's decision for him by kicking him in the chest when Merle tried to come closer. And as he massaged the spot where Milton's heel had hit him, Merle saw trails of hot, salty tears running through the grime on Milton's face.

"Stop him," Milton pleaded. "Don't let him hurt her anymore."

Merle sliced through the zipties on Milton's left wrist and Milton rolled onto his side, exposing his back so that Merle could see at least six or seven lashes where it looked like someone had beaten him with a belt across his bony shoulder blades.

Grabbing the corner of the table to steady himself, Merle flinched away from an opponent who wasn't there as he was reduced once again to a child under his father's hand. He had tried to run, but his father had cornered him, torn off his shirt, and taken a belt to him until Merle screamed for his mother. He never called for her when his father beat him because she would always cower away, but the beatings had never hurt as much as they did now. He didn't know what else to do but cry for her, ashamed to shed tears to deal with the pain because if he didn't scream, he knew he would die. The pain surged through him with such intensity that he could never wish it upon anyone else except those who had wronged him. And so when he had seen the marks of a beating on weaker victims like Andrea and Erica by Crowley or Janine and Nina by Wade, his role changed from solitary survivor to protector. He acted as a devoted spouse and a defensive parent, like how his parents should have been. He dealt punishment to the abusers and nearly killed Crowley while successfully killing Wade because he couldn't abide by any of it.

To see Milton now with marks nearly identical to the ones Merle had on his own back, Merle harbored such irrevocable rage on Milton's behalf. As pathetic of a human being he was, Milton had still chosen to come back here in a last-ditch attempt to protect Woodbury's people and he had been beaten for it, beaten for being innocent. Never had Merle been able to relate to this man more than he could right now and he hated that it took Milton being in pain, being subjected to a vicious lesson at the Governor's hand, to finally connect with him.

Now, Merle had to see this through to the end and not only kill the Governor for what he had threatened to do to Andrea, but also for the war he had staged out of jealousy and the pain he had inflicted on Milton.

"Merle, please, go to her," said Milton, hugging his waist in shuddering pain.

With calloused, bloody fingers, Merle touched one of the welts on Milton's back, but Milton didn't move at his touch, perhaps because he was in too much pain to feel something so gentle. Even as a grown man, Milton looked so small and frail with the scars on his back like Nina had when Erica forced the girl to show Merle the marks Wade had left on her legs. The same marks Daryl bore, the same ones Merle carried with him since he was six years old, were now painfully fresh on Milton's flawless skin. Merle knew what it was like to feel so utterly helpless as it was being done to him because he had been a child, unable to fight back. Milton was an adult with the innocence of a child and Merle felt responsible for him now that they shared this mark of brutality.

Milton looked back over his shoulder and Merle saw that the blood from his mouth had stained his teeth red as well as smeared across his lips.

"I'm comin' back for you," Merle promised.

He shoved his spare knife into Milton's free hand and darted back out into the corridor, and faced the left door. He kicked it open, leveling his automatic.

Andrea's back was pinned to the Governor's front with the front of her thighs pressed against a wooden table. She had on only a bra and the Governor's pants were undone to the point that Merle could see his boxers pressing against Andrea's backside. From the look on her face and the sweat coating the Governor's, Merle knew he was too late.

"Should I say that this isn't what it looks like?" asked the Governor.

Andrea had tears cascading down her filthy cheeks as the Governor held her upright with one hand both cupping her chin to keep her in place and holding his knife against her mouth and the other hand pointing the handgun at Merle.

"I hadn't finished yet. Y'wanna wait outside?"

Merle had no words, but his finger was on the trigger-

"Now, I wouldn't try anything when we're in this delicate position."

The Governor made a thrust with his hips and Andrea cried out.

She knew. She knew from the moment she decided to go after Milton that this was what lay in store for her, but she kept going anyway, and now she was paying the price for it. Her face was flushed and bruised in the short amount of time it had been since Merle had last seen her, which told him that the Governor worked quickly. But she wasn't broken yet. There was defiance in her, but Merle had to do something before the Governor snatched that last bit away from her.

"I know this makes you burn with jealousy, doesn't it?" asked the Governor. "Another man claiming your woman, feelin' her up, penetratin' her."

"She ain't my property," said Merle. "But she is mine t'protect."

There it was; the look on Andrea's face that displayed what she had been hoping for since their one night together. She realized that Merle would go to world's end for someone else besides Daryl, and though that realization had an astounding resonation with her, it was too little, too late. He'd failed to do what he set out to do.

"Not doin' a very good job, are you? You're not worth shit to anyone, Merle. You wanna be a good person, but time after time, you just fail everyone. Gettin' those people killed at the prison, sendin' your brother off t'slaughter, lettin' me get my hands on Andrea here. And I heard you comin'; I know you've seen Milton and I know that rattled you. His back looks familiar, doesn't it?"

Merle had to wonder for a moment how the Governor knew what his back looked like, but then he remembered that he had been practically stripped naked upon entrance to Woodbury after he'd been found dying of dehydration. As Dr. Stephens patched him up, the Governor would have seen the stretched scars which were a product of his father's brutality.

"You should've left Milton outta your plans and just let me do things my way from the start," the Governor continued. "He mighta come outta this alive if you had."

"Merle, go…" said Andrea. "Milton—"

The Governor nicked her throat with his knife and she fell silent.

Merle sensed his breaking point coming as his heart beat in his throat and hot liquid longed to squeeze out of his eyes. It was killing him inside that he couldn't help her. He thought that the Governor would stop as soon as Merle entered the room and that he could at least spare Andrea any more pain, but here he was in a standoff with the Governor still in the act and with a knife to Andrea's face so that if either she or Merle tried something, the other would die.

He knew his eyes were brimming and he tried to blink away his emotion, but the Governor caught sight of it and smiled.

"Well, I'll be damned. You actually surprised me, Merle. I thought I'd seen everything I could expect from you. 'Course, I shouldda seen it when you near killed Crowley because he felt her up, but then I thought she'd just been a one-night stand for you when she left and you stayed. But no, she actually got t'you, didn't she? Gotcha feelin' somethin' more than just a need to fuck her raw. Dare I say it, love? Is that somethin' you know how to do, how to feel? It's gotta be, otherwise you wouldn't have just nearly broke the door down t'get in here when y'heard her screamin'. And I gotta tell you, she's more than a good fighter; she feels good too."

Merle cocked his pistol. "I fuckin' swear t'God, I'll put two in your balls and four in your head. Get the fuck off've her."

The Governor made Andrea lie down and then he slowly slid out of her, keeping his pistol on Merle.

"Y'know what I did to Milton when I found out he'd betrayed me? I started openin' him up. Cut by cut, piece by piece, I'mma rip into his flesh so that he'll feel every second of it. You haven't seen half of what I plan t'do t'him. That is, if you don't get t'him first. You can't save 'em both, and it's only a matter of time before someone else comes in here after your colorful entrance. Either you have this standoff with me, or you go and try t'save Milton's worthless ass."

"Merle," Andrea whispered, "please…"

Please, what? Help her? Help Milton? Kill her and go to Milton? Kill the Governor like Merle should have done from the fucking start instead of dicking around for his own intents and purposes?

"If one've 'em could go free, who d'you think she'd chose?" asked the Governor, stroking Andrea's hair.

"Don't let him hurt Milton anymore, Merle," said Andrea.

"There's your answer, Merle. She'd prefer to stay here and let me have my way with her than t'suffer any more've Milton's screams 'cause I've been takin' turns with them so that they'll hear each other and know what's comin'. They wanted t'plot behind my back; they've suffered together for it."

The Governor shoved Andrea's head down onto the table in front of him and she yelped. Next door, Milton called out to her in a wretched, abused voice.

" _Andrea!_ "

"Go," Andrea begged Merle. "Before he calls for help, go get Milton—"

A giant crash came from the room next door and the Governor turned toward the metallic wall, distracted. Merle rushed him, hurtling himself against the Governor's broad chest and knocking Andrea out of the way. As the two of them flew into a table full of equipment, the resulting collision caused an even greater din than the one that had just come from the neighboring room.

Merle used his blade to stab the Governor in the thigh and the Governor grabbed a handful of Merle's hair, pulling hard to make Merle remove the blade. Eyes watering, Merle tried to draw back, when a boot came out of nowhere and collided with the Governor's face. Coming onto his feet in a wobbly dance, Merle saw Milton standing there with his undershirt staining red beneath his coat that he had thrown over himself to hide his wounds. Behind him, Andrea was struggling to put her clothes back on.

"Go help her," Milton told Merle. "I'll deal with this."

"Someone'll be comin' t'investigate them crashes," said Merle. "We gotta git goin', Milton, let's go."

Andrea did up the button on her pants and slipped her own coat on without bothering to put on her shirt first. She took the Governor's pistol from the floor, avoiding Merle's eye as she pointed to the door.

Milton, however, was still standing in front of the Governor as he held his pistol in firing position.

"Milton, we gotta bail out now, son, lessgo!"

Milton's hand was shaking so badly that every second, the gun was pointed in a completely different direction.

"Milton, _now_!" said Merle and Andrea together.

Merle had turned away, pulling at Milton's sleeve just as he heard the shot go off. Arching in such a way that the wounds along his back wouldn't rub against his torn flesh, Milton took Andrea's good arm as Merle put his hand around her waist and the two of them escorted her down the hall to the back exit to the lab. Merle checked that the coast was clear and then led them out to the fence, prying at the metal sheets to create an opening for them to squeeze through. His stint with the semi still had the townspeople occupied, but for how much longer, Merle didn't know or want to gamble on.

Finally, he managed to clear a section that was just big enough for him and more than spacious enough for Andrea and Milton to slip through. Milton went out first to guard Merle's back while Merle pulled Andrea as gently as he could into the open. The trees were a long way off and the nearest cover was the car graveyard, but that put them in view of the front gate and if they took the long way around, some other wall guard was bound to spot them. Their dilemma was solved when a rhythmic metal clanging sounded off behind them. Then, someone shouted on the wall and gunfire churned up dust at their feet.

"Shit, there it goes," said Milton. "Someone must have found Phillip and raised the alarm. Keep going!"

"What do you mean, 'keep going'?" asked Andrea, but Milton had shoved her and Merle ahead toward the cars and turned back around to fire at the shooters on the wall. He managed to keep up this brave-but-dumb heroic act for all of four seconds before his left side jerked back with the impact of a bullet hitting him and he fell over into the weeds. Merle placed Andrea behind one of the cars, ordered her to stay put, and crawled back to where he had seen Milton go down. Concealed by the wall of weeds, he was able to creep forward without attracting gunfire, but he didn't dare raise his head higher than it was as he called out to Milton.

At last, he found Milton as he nearly flattened the other man underneath him, for Milton lay right in his path. The bullet had gone completely through Milton's shoulder in a clean flesh wound very similar to the one Merle had left on Andrea, but the pain was enough to lay him flat on his back with his eyes wide open in shock. Merle tried to pull him into a sitting position, but Milton fought him off with his hands flailing.

"No, get away. Leave me and get her out of here—"

"Giddup! I can't do this on my own, now getcher ass up an' help me!"

"You have to do it yourself," said Milton, crying out as Merle made him sit up straight. He grabbed a fistful of Merle's overshirt and pulled him in closer to rasp out a few blood-choked words. "I was never going to make it, Merle; get her out now while you can."

Merle almost couldn't look Milton in the eye as the latter nodded in resignation and licked blood from his lips. The understanding complexion he gave Merle was the single most selfless thing Merle had ever seen from a human being, and it destroyed any delusions Merle had about getting Milton out of Woodbury alive.

 _It's okay_ , Milton mouthed, concealing his face behind Merle's shoulder so that Andrea couldn't see, if she happened to be looking around the car.

"Ready?" asked Merle.

"Help me up."

Merle pulled on the front of Milton's jacket and Milton held onto Merle's forearm with both hands as Merle hauled him to his feet. Merle then placed the pistol in Milton's hands.

"Go," said Milton, checking his clip and turning back around to face the opening gate.

"Milton, no—" begged Andrea, but Milton wouldn't look at her as Merle ran back to her, put his arm around her waist, and dragged her away.


	37. Chapter 37: The Brink

**MILTON**

He knew he was in the right, trying to provide a better future for these people. He had tried to protect them from a source of evil they, in their blind faith, hadn't been able to see. But they would never know his good intentions because of how Phillip was presenting him. He was made to stand atop the wall, his bleeding shoulder causing him excruciating pain as Phillip manhandled him and shook him fiercely so that all of Woodbury stretched out below could see Milton for what he was.

Milton saw the faces of his neighbors looking up at him in disbelief, refusing to accept that Milton was the brains behind the operation, the cause of the many deaths the town had suffered. He could see that so many of them wanted to continue to deny it, but Phillip had solid evidence; the remaining wall guards, which consisted of some volunteers from the crowd, had seen Milton firing at the town while Merle and Andrea escaped. Milton had only given up when he ran out of ammunition and even then, he had to be tackled to the ground by no less than three of Woodbury's remaining soldiers.

Phillip labeled Milton as the worst sort of traitor as he stood bloodied and defeated, watching the faces swim in and out of view since he no longer had his glasses. As Phillip sentenced Milton to a public beating before he allowed any harsher punishment to fall, the crowd cleared a space on the ground below which Milton was led into and given a split second to decide how to defend himself since his wrists were bound together in front of him.

He only had time to see Benson and Crowley among his attacker before they were on him, kicking him everywhere they could reach while the rest of the town stood by and watched, but unlike when Merle and the others had beat Wade in a similar fashion after he assaulted Janine and Nina, there would be no one to fire a shot into the air to call them off. Milton couldn't even let out a scream, for the constant kicks to his chest and stomach knocked the wind out of him so that only a huff of air could come out of his throat. He knew he couldn't ask for respite or show Phillip that he was physically incapable of taking any more pain, but his panicked mind thought he might just die of fear before they were finished brutalizing him.

Miraculously, just when he felt that he would break and beg for the end, the beating stopped and several pairs of rough hands dragged him a short distance to what he could only pick out as the lab door through his battered eyes that had blood dripping into them. His captors weren't gentle in binding him down to the same table he had just been liberated from less than half an hour before, only this time it was chains and handcuffs that restrained him instead of something he could potentially break.

His parched throat reluctantly swallowed some of the blood coating its walls to substitute for water. It hurt to breathe and he was thinking that he may have a punctured lung or a rib stabbing one of his vital organs. One of his fingers had lost feeling, which told him that it was probably broken. Pain came at him from so many places that he didn't know which one was causing him the most discomfort. There was no part of him that he could focus on to keep his thoughts from straying down a dark path.

"Regrettin' it all yet?"

Phillip entered the room, rolling up his sleeves, and Milton knew what was coming, knew he couldn't take it. He strained against his bonds to show Phillip that he still had resilience, but Phillip only cracked a grin at him.

"If I haven't broken you yet, I will. You can believe that."

He took out an old-fashioned barber's shaving blade and freed Milton's left arm from the chains, pinning it in such an awkward angle that Milton feared that the elbow bone was going to snap.

"Now, hold still, or you'll mess me up."

Milton made the mistake of watching the blade make contact with his skin and then squirmed as fresh, piercing pain hit him. The blade carved into his skin like his flesh was the juicy interior of a pumpkin chosen as a jack-o-lantern. Tears squeezed out of Milton's ducts and he screamed as much as his abused chest could tolerate. Phillip's handiwork seemed to go on for hours, but the clock over the door only read five minutes.

Finally, Phillip lifted Milton's arm off of the table so that Milton could see the words carved into his skin that read: "traitor", "liar", and "backstabber" over and over from his shoulder to his wrist.

"Nobody's got sympathy for your kind, even in death," said Phillip as he forced Milton to look at his mutilated flesh. "After you die, you'll turn, and before someone puts you down, they'll know what kind've man you were, and they'll hack you to bits t'avenge the people you wronged."

"You wronged me first," said Milton with great effort, feeling blood dribble out of his mouth.

"I was just tryin' t'prepare you for the real world. You're the one who conspired against me with Merle— _Merle_ —of all people."

"You let the biters in," spat Milton. "Murdered good people. You became power-hungry, paranoid that Merle would usurp you."

"Merle's not fit t'lead shit. Neither are you," Phillip snapped.

"I led the town against marauders who would've raped, pillaged, and killed while you were out playing savior."

Phillip contorted Milton's arm to breaking point once again and Milton cried out. With much fumbling, Phillip freed Milton and pulled him bodily off the operating table to a pole that stuck out of the ground a few feet from the table. He shoved Milton up against it and bound him tightly in place so that Milton couldn't move even if he had the strength to do so. Yanking Milton's head up by the hair, Phillip stared down at Milton with rage and hurt.

"I trusted you, Milton. You were the only friend I thought I had."

"Hurts, doesn't it?" asked Milton. "Knowing that the person you thought you could trust sold you out for personal gain."

"And for what? For Merle and Andrea, two people who never gave a fuck about you as long as they had each other. Some friends."

"He's not, she is. But they're not here, and that's the best I could do."

Apparently, striking out against Milton wasn't enough to appease Phillip's need for bloodlust, for he released Milton's head and barged out of the room, only to be replaced with the one person who could make the situation worse: Becky.

She shut the door behind her and stripped off her shirt so that a black sports bra was all she wore on her upper body. A fresh layer of lipstick had been applied to her face as well as a full beauty makeup as if she had been expecting this. She came forward, knelt down, and then straddled Milton's lap and tilted his face up to look at her.

"You're going to let me do what I want to you and after that, Crowley's going to come in and fuck you raw."

 _Just like he promised he would_. This was it; this was what would push Milton over the edge and now he knew why Phillip had left before administering another blow.

"Don't—"

"You should have taken the offer the first two times I gave it to you because this time, it's going to hurt. But take it from me; your asshole stops bleeding soon enough."

Becky unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, fighting to get at his flesh underneath.

Milton began banging the back of his head against the pole in the hopes that he would knock himself out or even kill himself before Becky could do anything to him until he felt a hand grab his hair in a much gentler grasp than he expected to make him stop. With stars dancing in front of him in the semi-darkness, he saw a ruddy, basset hound-like face loom toward him, which was definitely not Becky's. His would-be rapist lay on the floor some two feet away with her eyes glossed over in a fog and her throat oozing blood so that it filled the cracks in the pavement.

Tate pressed a finger to his lips and started picking at the lock on Milton's chains.

"Why're you here?" asked Milton in frustration. "I told you to run for it. If Phillip finds you—"

Tate scribbled a hasty note on his whiteboard that read: _Knew you'd be back. Waited. Shut up._

"You can't make it with me in tow. I can't walk without help and I'll only slow you down. Please, Tate, don't make this any harder on me than it already is. Get out, find the prison, and tell Andrea…tell her—"

That what? That he was _sorry_ she had been raped as if that would somehow make things better? That apologizing for failing to protect her from Phillip as he had set out to do from the beginning would absolve him of the pain he'd brought on her?

"Just go. They'll find Becky in here and know someone's helping me and if you're still here, they can narrow down their suspects really fast. Please, leave me. For your brother, you have to leave."

Tate spoke. It sounded like he had a massive amount of peanut butter in his mouth, but somehow, he managed to form the two words that made it nearly impossible for Milton to convince him to leave.

"You _are_."

Honor was not a sense that involved the body, and so Milton could feel it, experience it, without feeling the agony that came from his body. Only a short time ago, Tate was more of a stranger to him than anyone else in town, but he and Milton were very much the same and as the openly-loving and caring man he was, Tate had accepted Milton as his family, which was something Milton could never say he had properly been a part of.

He swallowed more blood before responding. "Then for me, please, find Andrea. Do that for me."

Tate shook his head.

"You have to. You're supposed to live through this. Go now, before they come back."

Tate did something rather strange from Milton's perspective and touched his forehead to Milton's bloody one. He gave Milton's hand a firm squeeze and then he was gone. Milton exhaled and set his head against the pole.

He heard someone come in, shouting about Becky and calling to the others, felt someone trip over his leg and try to get an answer out of him, but Milton's subconscious existed in the netherworld, thinking of where he was going rather than where he currently was. He almost couldn't feel the pain anymore.

A hood was pulled down over his face and then someone was hauling him to his feet and forcing him to try and walk, how long, he didn't know. Doors opened, people whispered, men shouted out commands, and through the hood, Milton thought he could feel the dying rays of sunlight touch him. Finally, he was brought to a halt while he heard the sound of a truck's tailgate being lowered and then his escorts lifted him by his belt loops and threw him in. The side of his face hit the metal interior and instantly, he shivered at the coolness of it.

"You just sit tight, now," said Phillip's voice from somewhere above him.

The truck started off and Milton tried to warm himself by tucking his knees to his chest, but the numerous cuts along his arm seemed to make it easier for the cold to seep into him. His teeth began to chatter and he had to exercise great control to not bite his tongue in half. His extremities were beginning to feel numb, which was the best he could hope for at this point. Perhaps he'd slowly drift off to sleep and then die while unconscious, even if he had to suffer through these last few hours.

But he knew Phillip wouldn't allow him such a luxury.


	38. Chapter 38: Watching the World Burn

**ANDREA**

She let Merle guide her through the woods as the hours dragged on without any real conviction to stop him as she replayed Milton's last sacrificial act in her head. He had to have known from the moment he decided to go back to Woodbury that he would die there and even with what Phillip had done to him, he had made it far enough to give Andrea and Merle those precious few seconds that helped them get away.

As if that made it any easier to let him go…

Hearing him scream through the thin metallic walls as Phillip performed heinous experiments on him had been enough to make her tip over the chair she was tied to and start bashing it against the wall to somehow get to Milton. What made it worse was hearing him call her name as she cried out to him in unison and she knew Phillip was thriving off of that power to control them both by using the other. So when Phillip came for her, Milton had resorted to calling Phillip all manner of foul things before he started chanting Andrea's name in a tortured, rhythmic pattern. As Phillip exploited her, she tried to reassure Milton that she was alright and that what was being done to her wasn't as painful as it sounded, for Phillip kept up an intense soundtrack to taunt Milton.

By the time Merle arrived, Milton had gone quiet (Andrea assumed from passing out or losing his voice and she _hoped_ not dying). A flurry of emotions had passed over Merle's face in the split seconds before Phillip spoke and Andrea hated all of them because it meant that Phillip had also succeeded in crushing Merle's protective walls, the walls that made him _Merle_ , that made him indestructible. She saw the man on the Atlanta roof in his rage, the passive look of confusion that he'd had after she kissed him at the prison, and then she saw fear coupled with sorrow, but it wasn't solely because of what he was seeing in front of him. What he had seen in the other room had jostled him and thrown him off guard and his mind was still focused on Milton when he barged into Andrea's containment room.

Even as her body ached from Phillip's assault and she tried to think of a future where she could live with what had been done to her, she recognized Merle's actions as ones of devotion and dumb bravery, not purpose and prize. He came back for her because he wanted to, not because anyone told him to and she regretted more than ever the shot she had taken at his face.

But those feelings of enlightenment gave way to grief as he continued to carry her through the woods and she could only think of Milton who had quite literally given his body to protect her. So many times she tried to tell Merle—no, _insist_ —that they had to go back for him even though she knew they'd be going back for a dead body and besides, Phillip knew they wouldn't make the same mistake twice. With their small numbers, there was no way they could take back Woodbury and as much as it pained her, Andrea knew that its people were now out of her reach.

She wanted to suffer for Milton, somehow make her body endure what he had had to endure and she didn't deserve the medical help that Hershel could give her.

Merle tried to help her over a log, but she pulled back so that he almost tripped over it.

"We don't got a lotta time here; let's keep movin'," Merle prompted.

How was she supposed to tell Merle that despite all he had risked for her and the gamble he took with his own life, she didn't want to be rescued by him? The desire to meet Milton in the afterlife and apologize for not being the friend he had needed at the end was stronger than her desire to stay here, even for a man she admitted to herself that she loved.

"Andrea, come— _on_."

"I'm done," said Andrea. "I'm not going any further."

"Oh, you're not, are ya? Whatchoo think the Governor's gonna do t'you once he catches up t'you?"

"I don't give a shit what he did to me or what he may still do; he can't change me because of that. But what he did to Milton _because_ of me…Merle, he didn't deserve it. He was still such a child in so many ways and in the end, I just wanted to protect him."

"Lookit me," said Merle, grabbing her face and shaking her forcibly, but not without a note of gentleness. "You're shootin' 'im two middle fingers if you lay down an' die right now, hear me? He fuckin' paid for your life with his, so you're gonna keep walkin', an' if y'won't, I'll carry you. What he did may not mean shit t'you, but I understand why he did it an' I wouldda done the same. I understand _him_ now; I get 'im, an' I owe it t'him t'getchoo as far away from Woodbury as I can."

If there was one thing that Andrea thought was more humiliating and soul-breaking than being assaulted by one man as the one she loved had to watch, it was breaking down in tears to the latter, but the tears came and she tried to wipe them away with the heel of her hand. She had to keep it together; she couldn't afford for Merle to see her so weak when she needed him to accept her decision to stay behind.

"You said he didn't break you; prove it," Merle challenged. "You've fought this hard for this long t'stay alive an' now you're just gonna throw in the towel because you're feelin' guilty that you survived? Well, lemme tell y'somethin', sweetheart, that guilt _never goes away_. You've gotta choose t'live with it if you're a fighter, or die with it because you're feelin' fuckin' sentimental. I admired you for the type've woman you are, but if y'wanna die right here, then tell me that the hell I've just been through, the fact that a chunk've my _face_ is missin'—was all for nothin'. Tell me that Woodbury's not gonna survive another two weeks 'cause you gave up. Tell me all've your people and Milton just died 'cause you ain't got the motherfuckin' guts t'keep pushin'. Say the damn words t'my face."

She couldn't. Of course, she couldn't say the words, because Merle was wrong _and_ right. Why had she survived and Amy hadn't? And Dale hadn't? She didn't go down easily, fueled by the need to prove that she deserved another chance. After Amy, Dale had helped her realize that as Merle now was in the wake of Milton's death. But taking that next step, putting one foot in front of the other, seemed impossible at this point.

A thunderclap made her jump and she squinted up at the sky as she felt the first chilling droplets of rain sprinkle down onto her face. A tremble ran down her spine, for she had no extra padding to warm herself with.

Merle stood by, waiting for her to react. She reached up to trace the line of flesh her bullet had carved out on his face, but dropped her hand down to his belt, grabbed his pistol, and aimed it over his shoulder instead. It was a mark of how alert her senses still were that she managed to hold off her shot at the last second when she saw a crossbow and flashlight proceed their owner into view.

Behind Daryl was Guerrero and as both of them got a good look at Andrea and Merle, they let out a low whistle in harmony.

"The hell happened to you?" Guerrero asked Merle.

"How'd you find us?" Andrea asked Daryl.

"Dumb luck," said Guerrero. "We weren't looking; we just…found you."

"Then you can divide up her weight an' start carryin' her," said Merle, taking back his pistol from Andrea as he made up her decision for her. He draped his overshirt across her shoulders.

A bullet hit Merle in the left knee and he just had time to let out a stream of swearwords before a second bullet hit his right shin. He collapsed, unable to support the weight of his body on wounded legs, and without thinking, Andrea threw herself over him. She saw floodlights hit Merle's mutilated face and then someone grabbed her ponytail and gave a forceful yank that hauled her up onto her knees so that she could see what was unmistakably Phillip's silhouette looming over her.

She could almost feel the metal nozzle placed at the back of her head, daring her to make a move. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Daryl and Guerrero being disarmed and forced to their knees while ahead, the floodlight shifted ever so slightly in the truckbed as someone was lifted out, lugged across the muddy ground, and lined up between Daryl and Guerrero.

The hood was pulled off of the captive's face and Andrea let out a strangled sob as she saw Milton's face catch the light. The bruises, swelling, and blood coating and caking every inch of his body was evident enough that he was beyond pain; he was dying. And what's more, when he saw Andrea, he realized all of his suffering had been for naught.

 _I'm so sorry_ , Andrea tried to tell him, but with how traumatized his face was, she wasn't even sure that he could read her lips at this point, even if he knew she was there because her profile was so distinguishable.

Ten feet or so away, Benson had his foot on Merle's chest to prevent him from getting up as Merle lay in agony, still swearing as the blood from his leg wounds started to mix with the mud.

Phillip came to the forefront and had to project a little to be heard over Merle's curses, but all else in the woods was still, so he didn't need to be very loud at all.

"We're missin' a few people, but for now, we'll make do. I'll make this short and simple 'cause I believe in equal opportunity. I'm a man've honor; I keep my word and I pay my debts, just like you, Merle," said Phillip, rounding on Merle who instantly went quiet. "I saved your life; you saved mine, or at least spared mine—four times, so I'm gonna return the favor. I won't kill you; you have my word about that, so that brings our tally up t'two for me and four for you. I can't decide t'kill you and then not multiple times; that's cheatin'. Instead, I'm gonna give you a chance to finally make the decisions about who lives and who dies for yourself. You get to play God today, Merle, but only after you prove that you're worthy."

Phillip checked the bullets in his revolver and flicked the barrel back into place. "Keep 'im covered," he told his soldiers, and then showed Merle his weapon. "Y'got two bullets in here and four people kneelin' in front've you. Pick and choose. Two live; two don't. Whoever you don't shoot goes free, but that's assumin' that you can do this first part. Here's the deal: if you can stand on your own two feet, I'll leave the whole decision up to you. If you can't do that, I'll shoot one've 'em right here, then all you gotta do is shoot one and the other two live. If you think about it in the right way, I'm savin' you a lotta turmoil here, but I'll hold back on askin' for thank-you's about that."

Andrea had nothing left to feel or think as she watched the dribbling pattern of blood swirl into a pool of muck beside Merle.

Phillip motioned with his revolver. "So, up you get, Merle. You've got one minute."


	39. Chapter 39: Down Come the Walls

**MERLE**

He should have fired when he hit the ground. A blind shot would have been better than none, but he hadn't even managed that. The instantaneous pain that crippled him as the bullets entered his legs had wiped all thought from his mind apart from how excruciating it was to exist in the moment. His hand had gone instinctively to the worse of his two wounds: the busted kneecap, and in doing so, he had lost his pistol. By the time his senses came rolling back into him, Benson had taken the pistol and made doubly sure that Merle couldn't get up.

" _Don't let him hurt Milton anymore, Merle."_

" _I was never going to make it, Merle, get her out now while you can."_

" _I'd die for any've 'em, but I don't wanna live for you. I wanna live with you, bro."_

" _You protect those people you've got, dude. If they're all you have, fight for 'em, whatever it takes."_

Daryl, Andrea, Milton, and Guerrero.

Merle already knew who would ask him to save the others and who would flat-out tell him to pull the trigger. But he couldn't pull the trigger on any of them. If the rest of Daryl and Andrea's people had been here, he could have shot any of them. If Elliot or Erica or Tate had been here, he would have shot them because he wouldn't leave them to be the Governor's playthings. But the four people here didn't deserve to die like this…did they? Was it better for them to be torn apart by ravenous decaying bodies? Was it better to die at the hands of an enemy who had bested them? Or was it better to die by the hands of a friend, a lover, a brother? The Governor was a man of bullshit and would go back on his word as he had countless times before; whoever Merle didn't shoot would die by the sadist's hand. Whoever didn't die right here would be the ones who Merle believed had it in them to endure the pain to come, the mentally and physically stronger people…which meant that Merle would indeed play God today because he knew straight away who couldn't endure more than they already had. Merle would have to shoot Andrea and Milton.

But first, he had to stand up. He _had_ to.

"You gotta do it, man," said Guerrero. Merle looked over at him and Guerrero's cocky eyebrow considered him with an expression that clearly said, _Don't choose the wrong person._ Guerrero wasn't telling Merle to stand up, but to have the courage to kill one of them, almost as if he knew which of them the Governor would kill when and if Merle failed to stand. Merle glanced at Milton who had slumped over, staring at the ground as the rain beat down on him and started to wash away some of the blood on his face. With a shake of his head, Guerrero's expression changed to, _Not him_.

"Dude…" said Guerrero, but somehow he'd managed to evoke a sense of pleading into his voice, trying to steer Merle in the right direction without saying more. "C'mon, dude…"

The pain was only second to that of the sensation of having to saw off his own hand, but unlike then when Merle was in a delusional state and concerned entirely for himself, other lives depended on his ability to bite back the pain and man the fuck up. The bone in his knee felt shattered, splintered, and beyond repair while his shin was only slightly less painful. And he was supposed to stand on these two useless limbs.

"Twenty-four seconds," said the Governor, eyeing his wristwatch to follow the countdown.

Merle flipped onto his stomach and performed a half push-up with his lower body dipping low so that he looked like he was performing some sort of yoga pose instead of fighting to stand. He attempted to bend his left knee, but instant pain wracked his leg and he yelped. A second attempt yielded the same result and so he tried his other leg, which made him go blind with pain when he tried to make it support his weight.

He couldn't do it. Knowing he only had seconds to make eye contact with one of the four for the last time, Merle raked his eyes across the line in desperation. The Governor put the pistol to the back of Guerrero's skull and fired.

Merle had seen countless bodies crumple right away as the bullet took out the brain, but Guerrero still had his eyebrow raised, his semi-grin pulled off to the side of his face even as the bullet passed through his skull. He was still functioning, his eyes settled on Merle. And then, Merle saw his eyes gloss over with a foggy haze and knew that Guerrero had gone even though his body still remained upright. When he finally fell, it was an empty body that hit the ground.

Milton gave a small gasp as the gunshot went off by his ear and he cringed away from the ringing, shaking where he knelt. Andrea had stuffed her fist into her mouth to keep from screaming and Daryl was glaring at a spot on the ground, silent.

Daryl, Andrea, or Milton…

"Get him up," said the Governor, and both Benson and Crowley pulled Merle upright so that he gave a shriek when feeling flooded into his legs. The two soldiers had to practically carry him to where his brother, Andrea, and Milton were huddled on their knees with their heads all cast down. The Governor handed the revolver to Merle as the rest of the soldiers kept their weapons on him. "Who goes free first, Merle? And I didn't mention this before, but we're on a schedule here, so you gotta make a decision pretty quick. Biters'll be comin' in soon."

Merle held the revolver loosely in his hand, his arm swinging slightly with the wind as Benson and Crowley held him up. He looked from person to person, friend to friend, brother to brother, and to his lover. They would think that in asking Merle to shoot them, they were saving the others when in reality, the ones who died would be the lucky ones. He needed to convey that so that when Merle didn't shoot Daryl, his brother would understand why—and that Andrea and Milton would understand why Merle chose to end their lives.

Milton had kept his gaze down, shivering in the early night with his bullet wound making a puddle at his knees. He was going to die anyway if he didn't get medical attention and the Governor wouldn't allow Dr. Stephens to waste resources on him, even if Merle did spare him. But almost as if sensed Merle's gaze, Milton lifted his head so that he and Merle stared each other down.

Milton was still here. He'd been the weakest adult in Woodbury, but his anger at being treated like he was expendable _because_ of that fact had driven him to finally grow a pair of balls and see the Governor for what he really was. The Governor continued to use him and Milton pretended to take the abuse when he was really working alongside Andrea to throw the Governor out of office. He knew what the Governor was capable of and he had endured, but only just. He couldn't take any more; he was done. It would be a mercy to kill him.

 _Don't choose the wrong person._

He couldn't bring himself to say a name or to point at anyone because his soul was shattered into three equal pieces that were all vying for him to rescue the person they correlated with. He could save two of them…or at least give two of them a head start before the Governor started hunting them again, but only Daryl was in any condition to run since the other two were shot and bleeding badly. Daryl should have been his first answer with no question asked and then Andrea because Merle knew he honest-to-God loved her whereas he had only just come into the realization that Milton had been his friend all along. But Milton had already chosen Merle and Andrea over himself, hadn't he? He had told Merle to run for it with Andrea while he stayed behind to accept the consequences. He was willing, _ready_ to die for his mistakes.

But Merle couldn't stop staring at him because Milton had suffered the most due to _Merle's_ mistakes, and Merle couldn't go to his maker knowing that he'd damned Milton twice. The Governor traced Merle's gaze and then shrugged.

"You're full've surprises today, Merle, especially since Milton's gettin' nowhere fast tonight, but have it your way. You're free t'go, Milton."

Milton remained where he was, shell-shocked, so that Martinez and Bernard had to drag him to his feet. There was a protest on his lips, but Merle shook his head, silently begging him to just go and not prolong his presence.

"I'd start runnin', if you can," the Governor suggested. "Y'gotta find cover for the night and you're bleedin' like hell. The biters'll lock onto you."

It was a God-given miracle that Milton could walk at all as his hunched form disappeared into the woods and the darkness swallowed him whole, leaving Merle with one last decision that he just couldn't do. He was almost wishing that the Governor had shot Daryl or Andrea so that Merle wouldn't have to because how the everliving hell was he supposed to choose now? How?

It was the question he screamed inside his head, praying for an answer from someone, anyone: _how_? But no answer came, just as he expected, so he invented a third option, stupid, unattainable, and insane as it was.

The Governor was standing slightly off to the right behind Andrea. Merle could divert his aim and shoot the Governor in the head. He was fast and he could cap off his one and only bullet before he was gunned down by the soldiers, but that would leave the others to a worse fate than if he had done what the Governor was ordering him to, and besides, with at least ten guns on him, he didn't stand a chance of shooting anyone other than the three people in front of him.

Merle raised the pistol to shoot, but even as he sensed the soldiers preparing to riddle him with gunfire for even attempting such an act of stupidity, someone interfered. Daryl lifted his hands to the barrel and took hold of it. He moved it away from the Governor and up to his forehead. His fingers were closed over Merle's so that Merle couldn't reposition them to touch the trigger.

"Let go, man," said Merle quietly.

Daryl stared back, defiant and unwilling to let Merle go through with getting himself killed just to get a nonexistent chance at killing the Governor. It wasn't Daryl's decision, though. Merle was standing here with a weapon in hand and he had to make his last act his most defiant in trying, just trying.

"Leggo've the gun—"

"Y'shoot me, Merle, y'unnerstand? I can take it; I know why and she don't."

"Back down, boy, this ain't your choice—"

"It ain't yours. It's our lives; we choose how we go out, an' I'm not lettin' you do it for me or for her."

"Leggo've the fuckin' gun!"

Merle felt Daryl's fingers leave his hand and move toward the trigger. He could feel his throat expanding as his vocal chords ripped through the night to scream at Daryl—but his brother had already done it.

Blood flew from the entrance wound and splattered Merle's chest. At the same time, Crowley let go of him, screeching as he clutched his forearm where a similar wound had sprouted. Not understanding, Merle looked up beyond the rim of vehicles that outlined the makeshift death camp and saw Milton, Tate, and Elliot leading a small host of fighters to meet the Governor's people head-on.

Martinez had turned his gun on Benson and shot him point-blank, peppering the other man's body with gunfire. From in the dark, Merle heard shouts from people he might have known, but couldn't recognize at this moment. His vision had faded out to a world without color. He saw the darkness around him in pitch black, saw faces looming closer in the deepest tone of grey. Sweat dripped into his eyes as flecks of white. But on his hand and at his feet was red of the purest form.

With no one left to hold him, Merle had dropped to his good knee, but the pain was almost nonexistent now. He knew it was there, but his emotions had completely drowned it out in the wake of his brother's suicide.

Daryl had shot himself in the mouth so that blood poured out of his lips as he lay with his eyes wide open on his side. Four seconds. If he had just waited _four seconds_ …

Merle was aware of the sound of devastating loss coming out of his throat, but he couldn't hear it. Only blood pounding in his ears carried any sound at all. His senses were fine-tuned to focus only on the man firing into the woods with his back completely exposed to Merle. He got it into his head that by carrying out his mission and finally fucking finishing it could reverse what had happened. It had to; there was no alternative. The world could not exist if Merle's baby brother wasn't in it.

He stood up and somewhere in the section of his brain that processed pain, he was being told by every fiber of his body that this was a stupid idea and that his body couldn't tolerate him standing. He ignored it, preparing to suffer the consequences later.

His peripheral vision showed him Crowley charging him from the side and Merle knew that if he was knocked over, he'd never get back up. He tried to pivot to face his oncoming attacker, when Crowley was intercepted by Andrea who swung Guerrero's rifle into Crowley's face like a baseball bat hitting the homerun pitch. Merle didn't waste another second to see what she would do to finish off her first assailant. He rooted himself in place, positioned his body, and then flung himself at the Governor. His blade attachment was extended to act as the catch for Merle to bring the Governor down and in its own unique, morbid fashion, it worked.

The blade went straight through the Governor's back and in the midst of the heated battle with blood starting to steam in the frigid night air, Merle heard the sharp exhale that meant that Merle had punctured a vital organ. They both fell, but now with only one weapon that was currently stuck in his victim, Merle could only use his fist to pummel the Governor's skull. His knuckle bones fractured as they hit the solid bone underneath the Governor's hair, but Merle had to keep going; he had to do absolutely everything to keep the Governor from getting back up. He pressed the side of his hand against the Governor's face and smashed it down onto the ground at the same time that the Governor managed to kick Merle in his wounded shin. Eyes streaming, Merle pounded the Governor's temple against a protruding rock, listening to the brains inside the skull start to turn to mush.

Within seconds, he had reduced the entire side of the Governor's head to the equivalent of intestines thrown into a blender and chopped at a low setting. Collapsing on his back, Merle smelled the metallic rush of gunpowder and let the rainwater cleanse him of the burning heat within him, if only for a moment. Rolling onto his side again, he propped himself up and dislodged his blade from the Governor's back.

He went to stab the bastard through the spine, but felt a tug on his leg. Someone was trying to hold him back from fulfilling the bloodlust that was rightfully his and Merle was determined to put this fucker in their place for getting in the way of his vengeance. He raised his fist to strike out at his restrainer, only to find Milton clinging to his pant leg with one feeble hand, sprawled out on the ground with blood soaking through his shirt. Milton shook his head and then his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he crumpled.


	40. Chapter 40: Living With It

**MERLE**

He didn't know how and he could hardly even remember the events that happened in between, but one moment he was trying to call for help as he sat beside an unconscious Milton and the next, he was sitting beside Milton in the very back of a spacious Expedition. Rick was driving and Andrea, T-Dog, and the corpses of Merle's brother and friend accompanied them. With every bump in the road, the pain in his legs shot up his entire body. He bit down on his seat belt, drifting in and out of consciousness several times before he felt the car come to a rigid halt. Keeping his eyes closed, he waited for someone to either remove him or his brother's body so that he wouldn't have to see it under the lights that he could make out from under his eyelids.

Several pairs of hands reached for him and pulled him from the vehicle, trying not to jostle him too roughly. Someone was speaking to him, perhaps to reassure him that he would be okay.

 _What bullshit…_

After moments of being carried, he felt cold metal underneath him and a bright light hit his face. He scrunched up his eyes and lifted his hand to shield his face from the offending light. As he turned his head sideways, he pried his eyelids open to see Milton on a gurney beside him, sobbing as Hershel Greene attempted to remove the bullet from his shoulder. Elliot stood next to Milton, holding him down as Hershel worked, though Elliot looked just as bad as Milton with bruising around his neck and several cuts along his face.

Bringing the room into view, Merle saw the survivors clustered around him and Milton, holding out equipment or completing small tasks as Hershel, Carol, and Beth traded off duties between the two men. All of the sounds were still muffled, meshing together so that Merle couldn't pick out what anyone was saying. He saw Michonne and Tate holding his arms down in case he suddenly decided to attack Carol who was working on extracting the bullet from his shin, but the pain was so distant now and Merle had no motivation to fight back anyway. Directly above him, Andrea saw that he had opened his eyes and her mouth moved to form words that he couldn't understand, not that he tried very hard. He felt her grab his face and force eye contact with him for the briefest moment before she moved over to Milton and helped Elliot secure him.

Carol was instructing T-Dog on how to tend to Merle's face until she could have a proper look at it and after trying to convey something to Merle with no response, T-Dog moved Merle's head sideways so that his uninjured cheek lay on the gurney, giving him a full view of Milton who had been turned onto his side so that Hershel could clean the lacerations. Someone had stuffed a rag into Milton's mouth for him to bite down on and his eyes were clasped shut tightly as Andrea held up his head and cradled his shoulder while Hershel worked on him.

He was clearly screaming, though Merle couldn't hear it. If he had been in pain when the Governor was torturing him, it was nothing to what he was going through now as his friends attempted to reverse the damage. Hershel argued with Andrea over something with much gesturing at Milton's ribs, and Merle figured that they might be broken, which was what was causing him so much anguish. But his ribs couldn't be set until Hershel had cleaned out and bandaged the exterior wounds, so he had to endure.

Merle wanted to move. The first bit of life he felt stirring in himself since he'd seen the bullet pass through Daryl's head finally fueled his need to do something, anything, to make up for what had happened. He tried to sit up, but now that he was active, Michonne and Tate shoved him back down. The pain in his legs returned in full and shocked him into submission, but beside him, Milton's leg had reacted to what was being done to him and knocked a tray of tools to the floor.

Milton's eyes opened and found Merle's. In an instant, the room's soundtrack hit Merle's eardrums so loudly that he thought they might have exploded. He could make out every single word being said by every person around him, but loudest of all was the stifled screaming coming from Milton's throat. Merle saw it in his face; Milton wanted it over, he wanted it to end.

"Why can't you put him out of it?" asked Andrea hysterically as she had to watch, helpless to comfort Milton.

"If I give him anythin' more than I already have, it could send him into shock," said Hershel. "He's gotta stay awake through it, but I can't work on him if he's thrashin' around, so hold 'im still, please."

Hershel hastily patched a wound on Milton's chest, but even the slightest movement sent Milton into a new fit of screams.

"What's hurtin' him?" asked Rick, struggling to be heard over the shrieking.

"His ribs're dislocated," Hershel explained with frustration. "I gotta move 'em back into place, and it's not gonna be pleasant when I do, but if we can get him through that, he might calm down."

Hershel told Milton what was to come and Milton's pupils dilated in fear. Andrea, T-Dog, Elliot, Erica, and Carl all took hold of Milton and Hershel instructed him to take a deep breath. Merle actually heard the bones snapping out of the dislocated position, heard the screaming intensify, and cringed as the four adults and Carl all pressed down to keep Milton from further injuring himself. Milton's hand shot out from between Erica and T-Dog and clawed at Merle's arm. He contracted his nails into Merle's skin for all of ten seconds before he went completely limp.

The others stepped back so that Merle could see Milton now just hovering on the brink of passing out, but Hershel wouldn't let him sleep just yet. In order to do a blood transfusion, he needed to know Milton's blood type, and if they didn't get it before Milton entered the realm of unconsciousness, he might never wake up.

"Which type, son? I've gotta know."

Milton whispered something close to Hershel's ear and the older man's face fell in a way that clearly meant bad news because of the existing and surviving people around them, no one shared Milton's blood type. But after announcing the blood type to the rest of them, they still didn't know that Daryl _had_ had that type—and Merle did. He could have said no, flat-out refused to help Milton and let him die as he had already chosen to do once today, but Daryl and Guerrero had made the decision to end their lives so that Milton and Andrea didn't have to, and allowing Milton to join them in death was not only cruel, but impossible for Merle to accept. His brother had committed suicide for Andrea—and by extension, Milton—to give them the best and slimmest chance he could afford. Merle's brother. His baby brother. His kin, his flesh and blood, his responsibility—had fucking died for the dying man on the gurney next to him.

But Merle had chosen Milton over Daryl anyway, because instead of following his brother back to the prison or insisting that Daryl stay in Woodbury, Merle had stayed put and allowed Daryl to walk his own path. But he had waited just long enough to give Milton the means to free himself in the lab. He had actively made the decision to protect Milton and taken responsibility for him in the process because Daryl hadn't needed Merle's protection since he was a teenager and grown into a man to equal Merle's abilities. But Milton—he was as capable of fending for himself as five-year-old Daryl hiding in the cellar, and Merle had chosen to be his protector.

So he offered out his arm, saying nothing.

Hershel glanced at his forearm with the protruding veins and then up at Merle's face, but Merle told him quite clearly without speaking that he was absolutely sure he shared Milton's blood type and that Hershel was to go through with the transfusion and not say a damn word about it. So Hershel inserted the needle into Merle's arm and ran the tube to the other IV that he prepared to put into Milton, but the small amount of awareness Milton still had kicked into overdrive as he saw Hershel coming at him with the needle.

Andrea turned Milton's head away, but his hands had balled into fists as Hershel pricked his skin. A tense silence followed while they waited for Hershel to make an assessment, and then the old man finally nodded, dabbing at the sweat on his forehead.

"I've done all I can. The rest is up to God."

"Yeah, but is God gonna sit with 'im all night and come runnin' for help if somethin' goes wrong?" Rick questioned.

"I'll stay up with 'im," offered Merle as Carol finished bandaging his knee. He was surprised to find that his voice still worked after stretching it to its limits a mere hour or so ago.

"He's my patient; I'll watch 'im," said Hershel.

"You've got at least five other people who're bleedin' and need tendin' to," said Merle, nodding at Andrea and Elliot whose injuries were more prominent. "I'm not goin' nowhere like this."

"Merle, you're exhausted," said Andrea, placing her hand delicately on his shoulder, but he shoved it off.

"Don't touch me."

Andrea drew her hand back as if she'd been electrocuted. Merle glanced at her, and then, grasping T-Dog's muscular forearm for support, swung himself up into a sitting position. He could feel their eyes on him, waiting for the explosion, but he didn't have one to give. Everything he had left had to be devoted to keeping Milton alive.

"Do your thing, old timer. Patch 'em up. I'll holler if I needja."

Respecting his wishes, Hershel called the others away from the gurneys so that they weren't crowding Merle and Milton as he tended to the other injuries. Only Tate lingered long enough to make the sign for "sorry" before moving off to the cell block.

Merle started to eat the soup in a can Beth had offered him, swallowing without tasting as he watched Milton's chest rise and fall with shallow breaths. Truly as Andrea had said, he was utterly spent and wanted nothing more than to lay back down on the gurney and pass out, but for as long as the night existed, he had to stand vigil, for in his mind, the dawn would bring about the answer to whether Milton lived, or if Daryl's sacrifice had been a waste. Either way, when sunlight streamed in through the window, there would be an answer.

/ /

And the answer was yes. Milton's heart still beat with the coming of the day, and as Merle watched Hershel check Milton's vitals, he knew he couldn't stand to stay awake a second longer and promptly keeled over. He didn't feel himself hit the ground; he was only floating, wandering through a thick fog where shapeless forms whispered and memories called out to him to not be forgotten.

In body, he felt no pain, but his heart was heavy and withered as it recalled things he would never see or experience again. He hoped that he could exist in this dream for eternity because here, he didn't have to accept the truth of what waking up would bring. He still had meaning to his life in this ever-changing world of not-quite-nothingness. He was alone, but the loneliness wasn't there, only the heartache. The shadows tried to latch onto him and convince him to stay, but his physical self was calling him back, urging him to return to the life he'd made for himself and face his faults. This place couldn't house him just yet, no matter how much he wanted to stay. And so he let himself fall…

When he awoke, he felt that he'd been disturbed too soon, for his body was telling him that he'd hardly had any sleep at all. He saw the blonde ponytail and immediately wrenched his eyes completely open to see her placing a meal of a fruit cup, cherry soda, and beef jerky on a box beside his bed. It registered that he _was_ in a bed, and not on the gurney, and that he had been taken to a room on the second floor, probably to prevent him from trying to walk around when he awoke.

"I thought you'd sleep until tomorrow," said Andrea, nervously backing away from the bed as Merle sat up.

"What time is it?" asked Merle, rubbing at his eyes.

"About five," said Andrea. "The sun's going down."

"Where's everybody?"

He couldn't understand why she was regarding him with such tension as if she feared him. After everything they'd been through together, he knew that he was one person she wasn't afraid of anymore, so why the hell did she look like she'd rather be facing a horde of biters with nothing but a fork as a weapon than be in here with him?

"Outside, working on graves. We're getting ready to cover Daryl—"

Merle was on his feet, biting down on his lip to keep from yelping at the waves of pain traveling down his legs. "Nobody fuckin' buries my brother 'cept me. Outta my way."

"Merle, careful—" Andrea tried to hold his arm for support, but he pushed her away as he hobbled out onto the catwalk and started down the stairs.

"I got it, now move!"

Bullheaded and persistent, Andrea took hold of him again. "Merle…"

"Leggo've my arm, woman!"

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here, Merle, you don't have to do this on your own."

His legs gave out on him. He sank down onto the steps, clutching the railing as his shoulders gave a tremble and he found himself sobbing for his baby brother. The sounds coming from his throat were ones he hadn't heard since he had cut off his own hand, but the emotion behind the sounds hadn't made an appearance since he was eight years old, crying because his father refused to let Merle hug him and Merle—being only a child—didn't understand. He didn't understand now why he was still here in this crippled form while Daryl lay outside in a hole.

That's what this whole shit of a mess had been about; saving Daryl. Since he'd been separated from his baby brother, his only goal was to reunite with him, but his own lack of judgment and delays had ensured that the Governor survived long enough to take away the only thing Merle had worth living for.

What had Andrea asked Merle the night of the pit fights? If he had known then that Daryl was dead, where would Merle be now? And he had answered: dead. Because life wasn't worth living if you had to go it alone, and for as long as Daryl had been his brother to look after, Merle had never truly felt alone, but now that Daryl was gone, where did that leave Merle?

Alone. Walking without living. A corpse that couldn't die.

It wasn't right; it wasn't _fair_ , and once again, Merle begged for someone to answer his question, but no voice of enlightenment came to him, so he gave up and let himself weep.

Andrea's hands were taking his face, careful to avoid the stitches she was responsible for, and guiding his face to her chest where she let him bury it away from the world and hide. She sheltered him from accepting it all for a few precious moments and ran her fingers through his hair. This temporary reprieve couldn't last forever; he would have to face the hole Daryl lay in and the grave marker that would haunt Merle for the rest of his life, but in this moment, being able to keep it at bay, was the only thing he could do.


	41. Chapter 41: Mirrored Images

**MILTON**

He should have died. From the bullet wound or the beatings or even by a shot through the head, but he hadn't. He should have died several times on that gurney as Hershel worked tirelessly to save him, but he couldn't convey his wish to die because the agony overwhelming his body had been far too intense to tell the old man as much. He had seen a light at the end of his tunnel vision as he lay screaming with Andrea holding onto him, but each time, the pain brought him back and made him suffer. Then, he had been so close to the end when he told Hershel that his blood type was quite rare, knowing that one other person in the room had that type, but praying that that person wouldn't surrender it.

And then Merle had the audacity to give him that blood anyway and keep him alive—and Milton hated him for it. Hated him for making Milton feel—on top of everything else—his childhood fear reborn as Hershel came at him with the needle in his most vulnerable moment. He knew he had panicked and that he had had to be held down, but he doubted whether anyone would care about his phobia of needles when they had seen him reduced to nothing but a screaming, thrashing man on the brink of death. Nothing so simple as a needle could have shamed him any more than he had already been shamed in front of Woodbury and now the prison group.

They already knew he was weak; his state of fear had only confirmed that, but he had hoped that the aftermath was something he would not have to face if he had been allowed to die instead of forced to be kept alive. Thanks to Merle, he had to face those people who had seen him in such a horrible state.

But it was also thanks to Merle that Andrea was alive. Merle had done what Milton alone could not, and he not only saved _Milton's_ life, but hers as well, which put Milton in Merle's debt. Only, he suspected that Merle would want nothing to do with him now that he had saved Milton's life. Milton had gone free while Daryl took the shot of the martyr, so Merle had made Daryl's death worth it by keeping Milton's heartbeat going, and in his mind, they were even now. Merle dealt in debts; when Phillip took him in to Woodbury, Merle was indebted to him, and he had repaid Phillip by following orders without question, orders that the other men would not have been so eager to comply with. When Merle felt that he had fulfilled his unspoken contract, he no longer owed Phillip, and it was then that he began to turn on Woodbury's governor.

It was agony going over these thoughts in his head as his body kept him in an unconscious state. He wanted to wake, just so that he could have someone else speak to him, prove him right or wrong, but he was also terrified at the idea of letting these people see him awake so that they could judge him based off of how he had acted. He could never look at any of them again without feeling a twinge of guilt and shame, two of the most artificial feelings to experience when he was at least still alive.

After how long, he could not say, but he finally wrenched his heavy eyelids open and saw the upper part of the bunk bed above him. He blinked and brought the room into as much focus as he could, but being nearsighted, everything beyond a one foot radius was blurry. His body ached and still burned from his injuries, particularly his ribs and shoulder, but thankfully (and he suspected that Hershel had kept him on morphine to dull the pain), he was at least able to lay there and not find it necessary to scream.

He attempted to pull himself up a few inches when gentle hands eased him back down and someone placed a pair of glasses on his nose. The spectacles were his own, taped and glued together at the bridge, but otherwise the same as they were the last time he had used them. It was wonderful to see properly, but just as he was reveling in his regained sight, he realized that Phillip had left Milton's glasses on the floor of the lab in Woodbury, which meant that someone had to have gone back for them.

What a stupid thing to do, just so Milton could see.

"How-?" he began, only he was silenced as Tate leaned over him and offered him a drink of water.

Until this moment, Milton hadn't realized how thirsty he was and gulped down the water to coat his barren throat. He was glad to at least have Tate in the room with him, for Tate never judged anyone too harshly. But he wasn't alone; Elliot sat on the floor beside Milton's bunk, playing a game of solitaire by himself. When he saw that Milton was awake, he abandoned his game and sat up attentively.

"How do the glasses work?" he asked in a hoarse voice, evident of the bruising still to be seen around his neck.

"How…did you get…them?" asked Milton, finding it difficult to speak normally with the pain in his chest.

"There's no feud between the prison and Woodbury anymore. Martinez and two of the other soldiers turned their guns on the rest of the Governor's men when Tate and I ran in with Rick and the others. Martinez went back to Woodbury to explain everything and clear your name and six days later, here we are. Rick managed to establish a sort of trade between our two camps; we'll check in on each other and ensure that both locations are safe and well-stocked, but for obvious reasons, no one from Woodbury decided to come live here, though several of them have visited, including Doctor Stephens who helped Hershel get you properly taken care of."

He'd been unconscious for six days. These people had been keeping him alive for all that time and Doctor Stephens had made the trip out for him. Milton didn't know whether to be filled with gratitude or more shame. He tested his left arm which was secured in place against his chest so that his shoulder wound could heal. Then, his eyes found the needle sticking into his right forearm, its indentation visible under the surface of his skin.

His already constricted air passages tightened up. He felt the cold sweat gathering under his armpits and as irrational of a fear as he knew it was when he wasn't in danger and the IV was feeding him blood as well as other necessary fluids, he wanted the needle out of him. Now.

With his other arm secured to his chest, he couldn't reach the needle, so he twisted onto his side to try and use the bed as a lever to help him pull it out. Elliot saw what he was doing and grabbed his wrist to calm him.

"No, Milton, it has to stay in. You aren't strong enough to function without it."

"Get it out," said Milton in full panic mode.

"If you don't leave it alone, I'll have to strap you down—"

That was the one thing Elliot could have said to make it worse. Needles, strapped down, helpless, he wasn't about to go through it again. He looked to Tate to help him, for Tate knew about Milton's phobia, unless Tate and Andrea had told everyone about it. He couldn't stand it, having eyes on him while he was so defenseless.

"Help me, would you?" Elliot asked Tate with strain as he attempted to keep Milton's arm down.

But Tate was getting up from the foot of Milton's bed to make room for someone who had come in at the sound of Milton's struggling. She sat down in Tate's place and took Milton's hand, squeezing hard and giving him consent to squeeze back just as hard. Her right shoulder was the one in a sling, just like his so that they were mirror images of each other.

The sight of her brought an unexplored and unknown well of emotions into his throat. Had he not screamed for her as he heard Phillip assaulting her? Had she not screamed back and kept her eyes on him when they were forced to kneel in line to be executed? And she held him as Hershel worked to save him; that much he knew just from her touch, for even though ever fiber of his body and being had been on fire, he recognized her touch as the one who cradled him to give him something to latch onto. She was the first one to ever help him through his fear, and she had come back to him now, when he least wanted to see her, but needed her most.

She was alive, not whole, and not untouched by what had occurred. She bore the marks and scars of Phillip's attack and she would carry them forever, but she was alive. The combined efforts of Milton and Merle had done that much for her—but they were also the ones who had caused her all of her pain and humiliation. No matter what she or anyone else said to deny it, she had been raped because of Milton, and that was something he could never let himself live down.

He didn't deserve to have her here to calm him. Twisting his wrist, he tried to pull himself free of her grasp and felt the needle point press into a sensitive are of his flesh. He yelped and Elliot tried to force his arm into a makeshift strap that had been placed around Milton's mattress for the sole purpose of preventing him from yanking the needle out. That meant that multiple people knew about his phobia and he was only proving how much of an all-fearing coward he was.

"Elliot, let him go," said Andrea. "Help him breathe."

Bunching up a paper bag, Elliot placed it to Milton's mouth and instructed him to inhale the extra air, but Milton couldn't take it in. His heart was racing too quickly, his brain too far gone into the realm of fear.

Andrea made Elliot move and knelt beside Milton's bunk, taking his face in her hand and caressing the apple of his cheek. "I'm here, Milton, and I promise, nothing is going to hurt you again. Do you believe me?"

He wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to, but how could he when even as she spoke, the needle dug further into his skin?

"Don't look at it; just look at me."

"I'm…sorry," he gasped. He didn't need to elaborate on why.

Andrea shook her head and leaned in so only he could hear her. "No, don't ever apologize for that." She lifted her lips to his forehead and kissed it, tenderly, briefly, but meaningfully, and then continued to stroke her hand over his face and hair to soothe him all the while shielding his eyes from the offending object in his arm.

He didn't remember drifting off to sleep, but when he awoke, Andrea was gone and in her place was Hershel checking Milton's pulse.

"How're you feelin', son?"

"I feel every scrape and bruise, but I suppose I should be grateful that I'm feeling anything at all," replied Milton.

The old man propped Milton's head up with another few pillows and helped him drink from a canteen. He had covered Milton's arm with a towel so that Milton couldn't see the needle, but was still able to use his hand. Even hobbling about on one leg, the man was putting far too much energy into aiding Milton than he should have been.

"I should thank you for what you've done for me," Milton began.

"How about thankin' me when you're sure I did the right thing for you," Hershel interjected. "I only saved you because that's what I do. It's up t'you t'decide if it was worth it, and if that time comes, then you can come and deliver your thanks. But there's someone you _should_ be thankin', especially since he's been donatin' blood t'you for a solid week now. He's waitin' in the next cell over t'talk t'you."

"No," said Milton.

"Milton—"

"I have nothing to say to him."

"He's not lookin' for you t'say anythin' to 'im. He wants t'do the talkin', so you'd be well advised t'listen. It's all he could do t'not come bargin' in here when y'woke up yesterday. Just hear 'im out."

"Fine."

Exactly why Milton was so against meeting with Merle, he didn't quite understand. All of the horrible and stupid things Merle had done could not be canceled out just because he came back for Milton and Andrea and donated his blood to Milton's bloodstream. They had had an understanding that Milton was to die for Andrea to escape, and even when it turned out that Milton hadn't been killed as he initially thought, Merle went against his wishes. Not only that, but he'd proved too often how capable he was of making the wrong decisions, and many of them cost Milton dearly.

Elliot came in first, holding Merle's arm around his shoulders as Merle leaned against him for almost full support. His legs were heavily bandaged while the rest of him was wasting away with the effort of giving Milton blood while none could be supplied to him. He eased himself into the chair across from Milton's bunk with a wince.

"Try to keep it civil, you two," said Elliot.

"Hey, piss off, man," snapped Merle. "What happened t'Miltie an' me's a result of the Governor an' his thugs, so if we wanna shout an' bitch about it, we're gonna, 'cause we earned that right. You didn't."

"Oh, so the fact that you were the one who shot me and then later cut off my arm gives me less cause to lose my temper than you?" Elliot challenged. "Is this an exclusive meeting of people the Governor and his loyal soldiers fucked over?"

"Somethin' like that," Merle grumbled.

"Kendall raped me," said Elliot grimly, daring Merle to consider him as less of a man for it. "Does that qualify me, or not?"

Milton felt his jaw drop open at Elliot's straightforward confession. Besides himself, Milton figured that only Hershel had known about Elliot's rape, and he was correct in assuming as much, for Merle was at a complete loss for words.

"I don't blame you or Milton for what Kendall did to me, so all I'm saying is that neither of you should blame each other for what you've got to hide under those dressings," said Elliot, and then he stepped out.

Merle still looked absolutely gobsmacked and turned wordlessly to Milton, his eyes wide and questioning. The lack of surprise at Elliot's statement on Milton's face must have told Merle that Milton was already in the loop.

"You knew?"

"I'm the one who found him just after it happened," Milton explained. "Kendall was trying to throttle him, so I put a bullet in his head. Elliot went to look for Erica right after. But you didn't come here to talk about Elliot, so say what you need to, and then leave, because I don't have much energy to spare for listening to you."

Milton's curtness brought words to Merle's throat. "The hell's your problem?"

If Milton could have laughed, he would have, but as it was, he could only manage a grimace. "I'm laying here with your blood pumping into me and hardly able to move; you tell me what you think my problem is."

"I didn't know he was gonna keep you alive, man. I thoughtchoo was long gone by the time they found me'n Andrea. And I don't even know _how_ the hell they found us."

"When you saw that I was still alive, I should have been your first choice to shoot when Phillip ordered you to, not your first choice to save."

"I didn't choose _you_ , y'dumbass. The Governor chose you 'cause I looked atcha. Weren't no love lost 'tween you'n my brother, so don'tchoo go tellin' me that you've got survivor's guilt."

"No, I'm upset because we had a deal, and it was to let me go. You weren't supposed to take responsibility for me because it was never yours to take. I don't belong to anyone. And now you've devoted yourself to my health because you made the wrong choice and your brother died for it. I don't want to be the excuse for you to do the right thing for once; don't worry yourself about me just so you can erase the fact that you're the one who brought this on Daryl. You have to take credit for your mistakes, not hide behind them."

"Yeah?" said Merle as a faint tinge of pink crept into his sunken cheeks. "Then why don'tchoo pull your own weight in takin' responsibility for this shitfest that exploded in front've us? You're at fault just as much's me."

"At least I _tried_. You're the one who stopped me from killing Phillip when I had the chance."

"You wouldda been shot dead on the spot, son."

"So what's it matter to you?" Milton demanded. "Explain that to me, Merle, why my life should mean anything to you? That's what I can't figure out and what infuriates me, is that I accepted my death and you denied me that right when you could have ended it, and now, I don't know if I'll ever be able to come to terms with what I am. What if I didn't want to exist past that night? You were wrong to take that from me, but I still don't know why you did. I saw it in your face…"

And he had. When Merle came for him in the lab, Milton had turned around and seen something that looked incredibly like sympathy, which was not a trait Merle Dixon was known to possess. But it had been there, and Milton had spent many hours after that wondering what it had meant, but failing to arrive at a conclusion. It was that look that he saw when Phillip demanded that Merle choose someone to go free. It was foreign to Merle's face, and frightening to behold.

"Y'looked like 'im," said Merle, gazing at something that wasn't there almost as if he was recalling the scene Milton spoke of. "Like Daryl. I know what abuse looks like an' what it feels like an' no one, _no one_ who's tryin' t'do the right thing deserves that. I didn't stand for it when my dad did it t'Daryl, I wasn't gonna stand for it with the Governor neither. It made me mad, is all. I didn't see you when the Governor asked which one've you was gonna go free; I saw my brother after he'd just been hit the first time. Then, the Governor took that the wrong way an' sentchoo off an' I had t'choose 'tween my brother an' Andrea."

This was so unlike Merle, this caring attitude, that Milton wondered if perhaps the sight of his own mangled back in the lab had unhinged something in Merle's head.

"And you chose to kill your brother."

"No, I didn't fuckin' kill my brother," said Merle sharply. "I had the gun on the Governor; I was ready t'shoot, an' Daryl took hold've the gun an'…an' he…"

Merle put his face in his hand, clenching at his hair.

Words failed Milton. He had not expected this. When he stumbled into Tate, Elliot, and the prison group, he doubled back for the clearing where Phillip had Merle, Andrea, and Daryl. He had heard the shot, but assumed that Merle had killed his brother, though why he had chosen to kill his brother over Andrea, Milton didn't understand. And now, to find out that Daryl had pulled the trigger himself, it made Merle's reasoning for assuming the role of Milton's protector even more puzzling.

Yet, he felt that he should console Merle somehow, even if he felt that Merle didn't deserve it.

"He was trying to protect you from making that decision. Daryl must have known that you couldn't do it, so he did it for you. That's all he's been doing since he found you again: protecting you."

"He had no right. That's my job, not his," said Merle through his fingers.

"It wasn't just your job to protect him. You were brothers; you're supposed to be there for each other because it's not a one-sided job."

"How the hell would you know, huh?" asked Merle, sitting up and trying to lean as far forward as he could to get confrontational. "You ain't got no siblings. You ain't got family, so you don't know a fuckin' thing about it. You've always been alone an' weak an' nobody ever looked out for you, which made you a target for sadistic motherfuckin' psychopaths like the Governor, so who was gonna look out for you, huh? I spent more time takin' care've your sorry ass than I did tryin' t'kill that man—"

"You didn't have to!" shouted Milton. "I didn't ask you to!"

"Nobody does! Nobody asks for someone t'protect 'em, but those've us that can gotta do it 'cause it's our job as the strong ones. You're so fuckin' perfect in how selfless you are with the people in Woodbury and the prison, but y'can't watch your own ass an' do the dirty work, so low-lives like me gotta do it for you. I fucked up an' my baby brother's dead 'cause've it an' if it somehow makes sense in my head t'cancel that out by makin' sure you don't follow 'im, then excuse the fuck outta me! I don't know what else t'do! People like me don't get a second chance t'become better people, so we gotta do whatever the hell we think is right, an' makin' sure you're still breathin' is what seems right t'me, so if you've got a problem with that, fuckin' suck it!"

Merle had made it to his feet, but Milton saw his legs shuddering and knew they were about to give out. Milton shook the towel off of his arm, catching a glimpse of the needle underneath, and took hold of Merle's wrist. He tugged and what little strength he had was more than enough to make Merle sit at the foot of his bed. There were tear stains down Merle's face now, and it disturbed Milton to see this massive presence of a man weep.

Blind morality. It seemed right, and it was all Merle had to justify his actions, so he did it. It was no sudden change in character or great realization that caused him to go to the limits he had gone for Milton; he just didn't know what else to do, and allowing Milton to die seemed wrong.

"That was s'posed t'be me on the other end've that gun," said Merle, not looking at Milton.

"It nearly always should be someone else on the other end, but it rarely works out that way," said Milton. "Survivor's guilt, like you said. But I want you to listen to me, Merle, and don't interrupt. I'm okay now. I'm going to pull through and I won't be going anywhere for a long, long time, so you can stop. Stop punishing yourself for what happened and just do whatever you deem necessary to continue existing. Do what you have to in order to survive as you are now. Or don't. It's your choice, but only you can decide to move on. Whatever happens to me is not for you to worry about from here on out."

"You're never gonna be okay, Milton," said Merle, and he had never looked less like Merle than he did in that moment. "We don't get t'be okay after somethin' like this. This guilt, it never goes away an' y'don't get used to it. It changes you, an' not always for the better. You ain't the same man you were before the Governor took you into that lab. That man died on the operating table an' somethin' else came out. You're more like me now than y'ever were, which means sometime soon, you'll unnerstand why I am the way that I am."

Milton refused to believe that. He could feel that he had changed somewhat in what he was willing to do for someone he loved, but he could never make the choices Merle had without foreseeing the consequences. He could never murder as needlessly as Merle had or choose to spare someone who had never earned his trust.

 _Oh, but you have_.

It hadn't just started in the lab, but from the moment he found himself at the mercy of Michonne's blade. He had done things he never would have dreamt himself capable of and even as he sat on the bed watching Merle's crippled form in front of him, he never would have been able to hold his own in a battle of words against Merle if he had remained the man he was before Phillip sent him out into the woods as bait. Perhaps not in quite the same way with quite the same results, but he had done irredeemable things.

The realization hit Milton hard and as he shared a look with Merle, he saw that Merle was now a reflection of him instead of the opposite of him and that truly was a terrifying thought.


	42. Chapter 42: Seasons Change

**MILTON**

Milton's injuries, combined with Merle's and Andrea's, made up the worst of the wounds from both sides, though Elliot, Erica, Axel, Oscar, and Tate had earned their share of battle scars. Contrary to what Andrea had believed, Oscar did manage to survive the battle on the open field, though he and Axel had had to stake out in a cabin they stumbled upon so that Axel could pry out the bullet that had gone through Oscar's side. They showed up at the prison at the same time that Dr. Stephens and a handful of others from Woodbury arrived to engage in the first formal meeting between the town and the prison.

Milton did not take part in it, partially because he wasn't yet ready to face the people of Woodbury after he'd been publically labeled a traitor and beaten, but Rick assured him that no one in the town bore him ill will, so he listened to their voices carry up to his cell as he lay on his bunk, trying to write notes to add to his moleskine notebook when he got back to it in the lab. Martinez, who had taken partial leadership of the town coupled with Dr. Stephens, told Milton by way of Rick that Woodbury was ready to welcome him back at any time to be fill Phillip's role, but Milton almost said no on the spot when given this news.

He didn't want the spot, most certainly, but not because he was afraid; he just didn't think this was a role he should take, particularly when the whole town had been placed under siege the last time he was left in charge. And somehow, despite everyone knowing what a fraud Phillip was, Milton didn't think he was cut out to make speeches and command an army the way Phillip could. There was a reason he had held onto the position for so long, and it wasn't because he was an educated man like Milton. He had possessed those admirable qualities often sought out in a leader: courage, discipline, and confidence to name a few.

On the other hand, Milton knew the town needed _someone_ (that wasn't Martinez, because that was just asking for trouble if Martinez remained in charge for too long, given his past recklessness), and he hoped to voice his idea to Andrea and Merle, though how compliant they would be was another matter entirely.

Merle wouldn't be able to walk without the assistance of crutches or another person for at least another few weeks and after that, he would begin the slow process of teaching his legs how to walk properly and only then (if his legs cooperated), would he be able to run again. Hershel and Dr. Stephens estimated that it would be mid-spring before Merle was in any state to leave the prison on foot, which meant that he would either spend the winter in the prison, or at Woodbury. The town was also ready to accept him back along with anyone else who wished to while away the dreary months ahead in a place of warmth rather than try to stick it out in a barren cellblock.

But no one stepped up to claim the spot as one week turned into two and then three and the weather grew steadily colder. There had been talk amongst those of them who had originally come from Woodbury as to who might return there, at least to be the representing voice from the prison, but no one fancied the idea of venturing back there alone for the duration of the winter. None of them on their own could be what Phillip by himself was. Milton, Andrea, Merle, Tate, Elliot, and Erica had attributes that a leader normally displayed, but individually, none of them were up to the task.

Elliot looked to be the best candidate for the role, but Erica's reluctance to return was mainly what kept him from accepting the responsibilities. Erica visited Guerrero's grave daily and spent a good two hours sitting in front of it, but all other times, she wasn't to be seen without Elliot. Whether or not their already strong friendship would blossom into something more months down the road when Erica could learn to accept her boyfriend's death (after already accepting her husband's death in the early stages of the end of the world), no one knew, but it was something to hope for, given all that had happened to the two of them.

Milton often wished that Guerrero, Wes, and Fletcher were still with them so that he knew there were good, well-trained soldiers to guard Woodbury, but more than that, he simply wished that they had not died because of his faults. The fact that each of them had died in acts of selflessness made it all the more difficult to move on, and Andrea and particularly Merle seemed to share in that sentiment because besides Milton, Merle had known those men best.

Tate was taking his new lot in life the best, though he still bore many signs of depression via post-traumatic experience. Like Erica, he spent ample amounts of time in front of his brother's grave marker, signing to nothing as a way of dealing with his grief. At the same time, he absolutely doted on Rick's daughter Judith and was more than happy to share in diaper duties with Beth. He made sure to set aside time for each person in the prison, whether it was helping with chores, offering advice, or just sitting with them, but he had adapted far better than the rest of them.

It was while they were making a checklist of the supplies they would need from Woodbury to be delivered by whoever decided to go back, that Milton finally was able to use both hands after Hershel had taken off his sling. Since all three of them were not in the best shape to be using their hands anyway, they'd been allowed to forego dinner preparation and laundry detail if they made sure to get their calculations right, which was why Milton was beginning to chew on his pencil in thought when he saw that some of his work might be incorrect.

As he gnawed on it, the skin beneath his bandages on his arm began to itch and he subconsciously dug his fingernails underneath to relieve the irritation. This continued for several minutes until he stripped back a section of his bandages to reach the itch and saw a series of faint red letters etched into his skin just above his wrist. His heart stopped and he quickly tried to hide his scars, but Andrea had trapped his hand under hers.

"What is that?"

"Just a cut—"

"Let me see it."

"It's fine," Milton protested, but Merle pinned Milton's sleeve to the table with his blade attachment and Andrea rolled Milton's bandage up to reveal one of the many instances where "traitor" had been carved into his flesh. Andrea held a hand over her mouth and Merle accidentally dropped the metal canteen he was holding so that it fell to the concrete floor, clanging about eight times and echoing double that until the entire washroom was filled with the sound.

"Milton," said Andrea, abhorred. "Why didn't you _say_ something?"

"Quite honestly, I'd forgotten those were there until just now," said Milton sheepishly. "The bullet wound and my ribs and the lacerations on my back were more pressing."

"Those?" Merle repeated. "How many times didee cutchoo, boy?"

"A-A few…" said Milton evasively.

Andrea felt for the bandages underneath Milton's shirt and discovered that they extended from his wrist to slightly past his bullet wound.

"A few," Merle repeated.

"I lost count after the third one because it was too painful to think about it, and I haven't been lingering on it lately because of my other wounds and—"

Andrea pushed Milton's scribbled calculations aside. "I want you to tell me right now if there's anything else Phillip did to you."

"There isn't, otherwise Hershel would have found it long ago. I didn't have a say on the matter while I was unconscious and he and Doctor Stephens redressed my wounds, now did I?"

"Did he do this to you before or after Merle came back?"

"It was after," said Merle, and Milton could see that he was remembering how Milton's back had been a bloody mess. Merle knew about everything Phillip had done to him—except this, and despite Milton's insistence that Merle stop being Milton's personal body guard, Milton knew that Merle needed to claim justice for this most recently discovered form of torture.

"Before you say anything, Merle, no, it shouldn't have been you instead, because you were never Phillip's friend and he never trusted you as he trusted me. This wasn't a punishment we could have seen coming."

"That sorta thinkin' earned you those scars in the first place," said Merle furiously, snatching up his crutches and staggering off to most likely ask for permission to take over someone's watch so that he could shoot something. When he had gone, Milton threw down his pencil and set his forehead on the table to moan.

"I wish he would stop doing that," he mumbled. "I'm fine now, really, and—"

"And he's not going to accept that for an answer for as long as he's here," Andrea finished.

"Then he should go back to Woodbury."

"You know he won't. He'll never go back there, and you should have realized that when he decided to stay here in a prison that he hates rather than return to Woodbury for a few hours to visit the twins."

"I don't want to be his replacement-Daryl."

"You aren't. But you're healing by keeping busy; he's healing by keeping an eye out for you. If it's therapeutic and it works, why stop it?"

"Oh, for any number of reasons: because he hates doing it, because it's unnatural from the viewpoint of someone who knows his real personality, because I asked him to stop, take your pick." Milton picked his pencil back up and returned to his calculations, trying to mentally add up the amount of water consumed by each person per day. He worked in silence for several minutes before coming to another sum that didn't add up, so he retraced the entire calculation, only to find that he had somehow added 14 and 10 and gotten 87. Hashing out the entire worksheet, he crumpled the paper, tossed it into the corner and rubbed his face with his hands as if that would help ease the throb of his exhausted brain.

Fingertips combed through his hair and then a pair of lips met his forehead.

"He's trying, Milton. He's trying to be a better person, not for you, but for Daryl. If he wants to make amends, let him."

Milton didn't know why it was so hard to accept Merle's friendship now when he would have welcomed it from the start after meeting him for the first time in Woodbury. Maybe he wanted Merle to stay the way he was so that Milton could prove how different the two of them were. If there was one thing Milton feared more than biters, it was becoming a replica of Merle Dixon, and when Merle had pointed out how Milton was evolving into something other than the man he used to be, Milton had started to try and distance himself from Merle. To remain sane, to keep a hold on what it was that tied him to existence, he had to revert to the man who had feared Phillip and Merle.

Where would he be, though, if he had continued to exist as that man? Dead, murdered, devoured. He had sworn to himself when the first gunshots could be heard down his street that no matter what was to follow, he would remember his morals and not let anything convert him into someone he would be ashamed to be, but if he had kept to those standards he set for himself, he would have succumbed to the apocalypse long ago. So where did he stand now?

He was sane, protected, and alive. He could recognize faults and identify people worth saving. He still had his morals, if only slightly altered them to ensure that he and the people he cared about were still breathing at the end of each day. Nothing Phillip had done to him and nothing Milton had done could change his true essence, so long as he had a cause that his old self would also have fought for.

Milton pulled a fresh sheet of paper toward him and restarted his calculations.

/ / /

 **ANDREA**

Winter hit them hard. A brief, chilling autumn was only a taste of what was to come as the air turned frigid at night at multiple blankets had to be used to keep warm. Woodbury had supplied them with enough to get by, if they were careful and never took more than their share. Some days were lean when Michonne and Elliot didn't find as much game as they'd hoped, and Andrea went to bed with her stomach gurgling, but the hardest thing to endure through the cold months was the cold itself. No matter how many layers of socks, sweaters, and blankets she put on, she could never truly fall asleep in comfort.

Sometimes a fire would be lit in the main walkway and Andrea preferred to take the night shifts of stoking the fire if only to avoid hearing her teeth chatter. On these nights, the darkness seemed darker outside the windows and the isolation hit her hard as she wished for home, Amy, and any number of nostalgic things. As she gazed at the glowing embers, she would often hear a disturbance on the second level and all she would have to do was wait a second or two longer and she could identify who was having the nightmare.

Horrid dreams visited all of them in turn, but understandably, Merle, Milton, and sometimes Tate and Elliot had the worst ones. If it was Elliot, Erica would be there to calm him by shaking him awake since they shared a cell. If it was Tate, often Milton would rush into the neighboring cell to deal with it, but for Merle and Milton, it almost always had to be Andrea to wake them, for they became violent in their nightmares and since she was already awake, she was charged with the task of coming to rescue them from their nocturnal imagination.

Merle would thrash and unconsciously reach for a gun at his side, but when his hand couldn't find it, he would start to tear his cell apart, and Andrea had to sometimes enlist Milton or Tate's help to hold him down and slap him hard to pull him out of it so that more often than not, Merle came to breakfast with a bruised cheek. With Milton, he mostly screamed, curling his knees to his chest and fighting off an invisible enemy. Andrea found that the best way to handle this was to hold him from behind and secure his arms across his chest until his tension released.

On more than one occasion, she heard Milton being violently sick in his toilet, but by the time she got to his cell, she found Merle had beaten her there, keeping Milton's head propped up so that it didn't sink down into his own vomit. When Milton contracted a type of flu over the winter, Merle took shifts with Andrea to stand watch over Milton through the night and for all of those times, Milton never once woke up to find Merle standing vigil over him.

But as Merle's nightmares began to subside, Milton's increased, and Andrea made it a nightly habit to sit with him for an hour or two until she found it easier to just move into his cell so that she could wake him if need be. The mattresses were twin sized, hardly enough room for one person, but Andrea scooted her way onto Milton's mattress all the same to lay with him and stroke his hair as he came down from the emotional high of his nightmares.

When the first hint of spring called out to them from the prison yard, Andrea and Milton began to dig a vegetable patch to keep busy, and it was here they were to be found on a day in mid-April. Andrea was churning up the grass and loose rocks to make room for the rich soil underneath while Milton selected which vegetables to plant. They worked happily, if quietly, until Andrea asked a burning question she had kept on reserve until the weather took a lighter turn.

"In the lab, right before we left to make a run for it, I heard the gunshot. I thought you'd killed him."

Milton sat back on his heels and adjusted his gardening gloves. "I thought I had, too. I fired the shot as I was turning away and I could have sworn with all my heart that the bullet hit him in the head, but I only grazed him. I had him right there and I could have done it, but I didn't wait just a moment longer to ensure that I had. Phillip should have been my kill, not Merle's."

"Now, don't start that up again. We're seven months past it."

"Don't you look back on what you could have done and regret it?"

"Of course I do. I have nightmares, just the same as you. I dream of Crowley all the time and I see myself killing him in every dream, wondering if I did the right thing, and when I consider what he would have done to me if I'd let him live, then I get over it."

"The three words that'll keep ya alive at the end've the world: get over it," said Merle as he approached.

Andrea saw that he had a bulging backpack swinging from one arm and a rifle on the other. His gunbelt was on, and as he strode up to them, his legs never once bent in an awkward position or caused him to pause. He had a hard grimace on his face and in the silence that followed his arrival, he spoke the words Andrea had been dreading.

"I can't stay here. I won't."

She had figured that this day would come once Merle went to Hershel and asked if his legs were capable of serving him as they once had. She hoped that Merle would have changed his mind by now, but not even the bleakest winter could stamp an idea out of Merle Dixon's head once he set his mind to it.

Trying to keep any emotion out of her voice, she asked, "Where will you go?"

Merle shrugged. "Dunno. Don't matter, neither, but I can't sleep here for one more night, so I'm headin' out while I still got daylight. I figured you two were the only ones I owed a goodbye to besides the ol' man."

"If you decide to come back—"

"I won't."

It was heartbreaking to hear those words, knowing that not even the possibility of continuing what she and Merle had started in Woodbury could keep him here. But then again, she hadn't exactly encouraged their brief fling, had she? Not when she and Milton had spent their days whiling away their time together more than she and Merle had, not when she had chosen to move into Milton's cell and not Merle's. Maybe Merle had sensed that he had been replaced and when he no longer felt needed by Milton or wanted by her, he knew it was time to move on. And if that was the case, Andrea couldn't be selfish and ask him to stay when clearly she had moved on.

"I'll still be here," she told him.

"If that's whatchoo want," said Merle indifferently. He stuck out his left hand to Milton in a very un-Merle-like manner. Normally, he showed affection by punching someone, but seeing as how it was Milton in this case, he couldn't very well do that. Milton, however, hesitated to take it as he stood up and pulled off his gloves one finger at a time.

"You have to tell me what I can do before you leave. I need to pay off this debt I owe you. You understand how a debt works, Merle; that's why it took you as long as it did to test Phillip, because you owed him. And it's taken me several months to admit it, but I'm grateful that you gave me your blood and did what no one else has ever done for me, so I need to repay you. What can I do to show my gratitude?"

"Y'wanna do me a favor: look out for her," said Merle, jerking his head at Andrea. "An' don'tchoo dare go outside that fence without a four-man team t'protect you. Now shake my damn hand, son, I gotta git goin'."

"I'm serious, Merle, I have to do something that you deem as a worthy form of payment. It has to be something you care about more than anything."

"It is," Merle affirmed.

Now there was no way Andrea could let him leave after he had practically said in Merle-speak that he loved her still.

Milton grasped Merle's left hand in his own and Merle's eyes lingered on the scars still visible on Milton's forearm.

"Wear them marks proud."

Nodding, Milton looked to Andrea who gave him a silent gesture that she wanted a moment alone with Merle. It was a small act of grace that Milton was not the jealous type, for he nodded, gave one final farewell nod to Merle, and hiked back up to the main courtyard.

Merle overturned a rock with his shoe as he adjusted his pack. "What's up, Blondie, I ain't got all day."

"If I asked you to stay, would you?"

"Nope."

"What if I begged you?"

"I hate beggars."

"Then tell me what I can do to make you stay, because I'm not willing or prepared to watch you walk out that gate."

Merle looked abashed and buried his hand in his pocket, avoiding her eye. "Well, shit, Blondie, it ain't like you ain't got no one here once I'm gone. You'n Miltie're gettin' on fine enough."

'That doesn't mean that I've forgotten you or put aside my feelings for you. I gave you space because you wanted it, but if I had known that you needed me to be there for you, I would have—"

"It ain't whatchoo think it is, Andrea. You mighta felt for me once, but y'don't no more. You're just afraid've what it's gonna mean for you when I'm gone, an' I can promise ya this: you'll stop feelin' it. Might hurt for a while, but once it heals, you'll be fine. Not sayin' that Miltie's got somethin' I don't, but he's the best runner-up y'got."

Andrea swallowed back her tears even though she knew Merle could hear it in her voice when she spoke to him. "I don't suppose it would do any good to kiss you now, would it?"

"Nope, but that don't mean I won't take one for the road."

And Merle leaned forward to kiss her with the softest brush of his lips against hers before hefting his pack further up his shoulder and starting down the gravel walkway to the gate. Andrea felt the words brimming in her throat to call back to him, pledge her love for him, and do whatever it took to stop him before he reached the outer gate, but no excuse or admittance of unconditional love was forthcoming because Merle was right; the love she felt for him wasn't what she thought it was. It was love, but not the kind that bound two souls together, so she would have to watch him leave, always questioning what her future could have been if he had stayed in it. He would always be her biggest "what if".

Merle paused between the two gates as if contemplating whether or not he should look back over his shoulder, but when he didn't, Andrea was glad, for if he had, she was sure that she would have gone running after him. He didn't stick to the road, but headed straight for the trees, and after a moment, he was gone.

The hopeful warmth that the dawn of spring brought suddenly felt much colder as if winter decided that it wanted to continue for another few months. Andrea folded her arms across her chest for warmth, staring at the spot that Merle had disappeared into until she felt a cautious hand on her shoulder.

"He does love you, you know," said Milton. "And he's not just leaving just because he can't stand to be in a prison."

"I know."

"If he truly means that much to you, then go after him."

Andrea turned to Milton, completely nonplussed. "You've done nothing but cling to me since you became a permanent resident here, and you can't sleep unless I'm next to you, and now you're telling me to go after him?"

"Yes, because I know you want to, and if your affections are mutual, then you should go."

There it was, the consent from Milton that he would understand if she chose to run after Merle instead of remain at the prison and build on her relationship with him…but she couldn't. She had left the people she loved behind too many times and neither she nor those people had ever ended up better off because of it. This time, she had to stay.

She took Milton's hand and grasped it, waiting for the strength to come that would allow her to turn away from the gate and from Merle. Milton tugged slightly and brought her to him, embracing her in the first hug she could remember him giving that she didn't initiate. There was still some hesitation, but once he had his arms around her, it felt real, and she could tell that he had been working up the courage to do so for a long time. Then, as if egged on by his bravery, he touched his lips to her forehead.

They returned hand-in-hand to the vegetable patch, but not before she glanced one last time at the spot where Merle had disappeared amidst the waving branches that swayed in the gentle spring breeze.

 ****As always, I thank those of you who have read and reviewed and those who have read in the shadows. This is probably the fastest I've ever written a story of this size and length, which I'm properly surprised with, because I expected to be writing this still into the new year, but I wanted to finish it before Season 7 premiers tonight…because, reasons.**

 **I've purposely left the ending the way it is in case I decide to continue this story in a sequel sometimes in the distant future since my previous Merle-Milton-Andrea stories always have one of the trio dying, and this one finally leaves them alive, if not together. We shall see.**

 **Happy reading.**


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